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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

JAMES  J.  MC  BRIDE 


THE  STANDARD   BEARER 


BOOKS  BY  S.  R.  CROCKETT. 


Uniform  edition.     Each,  i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 


Lads'  Love* 

Illustrated. 
In  this  fresh  and  charming-  story,  which  in  some  re- 
spects  recalls    "The   Lilac   Sunbonnet,"    Mr.  Crockett 
returns  to  Galloway  and  pictures  the  humor  and  pathos 
of  the  life  which  he  knows  so  well. 

J* 

Cleg;  Kelly,   Arab  of  the  City. 

His  Progress  and  Adventures. 
Illustrated. 

"  A  masterpiece  which  Mark  Twain  himself  has  never 
rivaled.  ...  If  ever  there  was  an  ideal  character  in  fiction 
it  is  this  heroic  ragamuffin." — London  Daily  Chronicle. 

"  In  no  one  of  his  books  does  Mr.  Crockett  give  us  a 
brighter  or  more  graphic  picture  of  contemporary  Scotch 
life  than  in  '  Cleg  Kelly.'  It  is  one  of  the  great  books." 
— Boston  Advertiser. 

Bog-Myrtle   and  Peat. 

"  Here  are  idyls,  epics,  dramas  of  human  life  written 
in  words  that  thrill  and  burn.  .  .  .  All  are  set  down  in 
words  that  are  fit,  chaste,  and  noble.  Each  is  a  poem 
that  has  the  immortal  flavor." — Boston  Courier. 

The   Lilac   Sunbonnet. 

"  A  love  story  pure  and  simple — one  of  the  old-fash- 
ioned, wholesome,  sunshiny  kind,  with  a  pure-minded, 
sound- hearted  hero,  and  a  heroine  who  is  merely  a  good 
and  beautiful  woman  ;  and  if  any  other  love  story  half  so 
sweet  has  been  written  this  year  it  has  escaped  our  no- 
tice."— New  York  Times. 


New  York  :   D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


The  Standard  Bearer 


BY 


S.    R.    CROCKETT 

AUTHOR    OF 
THE    LILAC    SUNBONNET,    BOG-MYRTLE    AND    PEAT, 


NEW   YORK 
D.   APPLETON   AND  COMPANY 
1898 


Copyright,  1897,  i8g3. 
By  S.   R.   CROCKETT. 


HSi 

3  ^a*t 


GRATEFULLY  AND   RESPECTFULLY 

I  DEDICATE 

TO   THE  GOOD  AND   KINDLY  FOLK 

OF  MY  NATIVE  PARISH  OF  BALMAGHIE 

THIS  RENDERING   OF 

STRANGE  HAPPENINGS  AMONG    THEIR  FOREBEARS, 

OF  WHICH  THEY  HAVE 

NOT  YET  QUITE  LOST   THE  MEMORY. 


712507 


THE   FOREWORD. 


A  book  iron-grey  and  chill  is  this  that  I 
have  written,  the  tale  of  times  when  the  passions 
of  men  were  still  working  like  a  yeasty  sea  after 

k, 

the  storms  of  the  Great  Killing.  If  these  pages 
should  chance  to  be  read  when  the  leaves  are 
greening,  they  may  taste  somewhat  unseason- 
ably in  the  mouth.  For  in  these  days  the 
things  of  the  spirit  had  lost  their  old  authority 
without  gaining  a  new  graciousness,  and  save 
for  one  man  the  ancient  war-cry  of  "  God  and 
the  Kirk  "  had  become  degraded  to  "  The  Kirk 
and  God." 

This  is  the  story  of  the  one  man  whose 
weak  and  uncertain  hand  held  aloft  the  Banner 
of  Blue  that  I  have  striven  to  tell — his  failures 
mostly,  his  loves  and  hates,  his  few  bright  days 
and  his  many  dark  nights.  Yet  withal  I  have 
found  green  vales  of  rest  between  wherein  the 
swallow  swept  and  the  cuckoo  called  to  her 
mate  the  cry  of  love  and  spring. 

vii 


viii  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

Who  would  know  further  and  better  of  the 
certainty  of  these  things  must  procure  and  read 
A  Cameronian  Apostle,  by  my  excellent  friend, 
the  Reverend  H.  M.  B,  Reid,  presently  minis- 
ter of  the  parish  wherein  these  things  were 
done,  in  whose  faithful  and  sympathetic  narra- 
tive they  will  find  many  things  better  told  than 
I  can  tell  them.  The  book  may  be  had  of  the 
Messrs.  Gardiner,  of  Paisley,  in  Scotland. 

Yet  even  in  this  imperfect  narrative  of 
strange  events  there  may  be  heard  the  beating 
of  a  man's  heart,  weak  or  strong,  now  arrogant, 
and  now  abased,  not  according  to  the  fear  of 
man  or  even  of  the  glory  of  God,  but  more  ac- 
cording to  the  kindness  which  dwelt  in  wo- 
man's eyes. 

For  there  is  but  one  thing  stronger  in  the 
world  than  the  love  of  woman.  And  that  is 
not  of  this  world. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I. — The  year  terrible    . 
II. — The  blood  of  the  martyrs     . 
III. — The  little  Lady  of  Earlstoun 
IV. — My  sister  Anna. 

V. — I  CONSTRUCT  A  RAFT     . 

VI. — Across  the  moonlight 
VII. — My  brother  Hob 
VIII. — The  muster  of  the  hill  folk 
IX. — I  meet  Mary  Gordon  for  the  second 
X. — The  blue  banner  is  up 
XI. — The  red  Grant  . 
XII. — The  lass  in  the  kirkyard 
XIII. — My  lady  of  pride 
XIV. — The  tale  of  Mess  Hairry 
XV. — Alexander-Jonita 
XVI. — The  corbies  at  the  feast 
XVII. — The  bonny  lass  of  Earlstoun 
XVIII. — One  way  of  love 
XIX. — Another  way  of  love 

XX. — MUTTERINGS   OF   STORM 

XXI. — The  eyes  of  a  maid  . 

XXII. — The  anger  of  Alexander-Jonita 

ix 


TIME 


PAGE 

I 

15 

22 

30 

42 
52 
60 
69 
76 
85 

93 
105 
112 
120 
129 

137 
144 

154 
169 

185 

193 
204 


THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 


CHAPTER  PACE 

XXIIL— At  bay 215 

XXIV. — Mary  Gordon's  last  word         .        .        .225 

XXV. — Behind  the  broom 233 

XXVI. — Jean  Gemmell's  bargain  with  God  .        .     240 

XXVII.— Rumour  of  war 252 

XXVIII. — Alexander-Jonita's  victory       .        .        .262 

XXIX. — The  elders  of  the  hill  folk  .        .        .     269 

XXX. — Silence  is  golden         .... 

XXXI. — The  fall  of  Earlstoun 

XXXII. — Love  or  duty 293 

XXXIII. — The  demoniac  in  the  garret    .        .        .     304 

XXXIV. — The  cursing  of  the  Presbytery       .        .     310 

XXXV. — Like  the  spirit  of  a  little  child  .        .    317 

XXXVI. — The  stone  of  stumbling     ....    325 

XXXVII. — Fare  you  well! 331 

XXXVIII.— "I  love  you,  Quintin!"      .        .        .        .338 
XXXIX. — The  last  roaring  of  the  bull         .        .    350 


'/a 

:S6 


THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE    YEAR    TERRIBLE. 

This  is  what  I,  Quintin  MacClellan,  saw 
on  the  grassy  summit  of  the  Bennan — a  thing 
which,  being  seen  and  overpast  in  an  hour, 
changed  all  my  life,  and  so  in  time  by  the  grace 
of  God  and  the  chafe  of  circumstances  made  me 
for  good  or  evil  the  man  I  am. 

I  was  a  herd  laddie  at  the  time,  like  David, 
keeping  my  father's  flocks  and  kicking  up  my 
heels  among  the  collie  tykes,  with  many  an- 
other shepherd-boy  in  the  wide  moorish  par- 
ishes of  Minnigaff,  Dairy  and  the  Kells. 

Now  my  father  (and  his  father  before  him) 
had  been  all  his  life  "  indweller  "  in  the  hill  farm 
of  Ardarroch  which  sits  on  the  purple  braeface 
above  the  loch  of  Ken,  with  a  little  circumambi- 
ent yard  enclosed  by  cattle-offices  and  a  dozen 
red-stemmed  fir  trees,  in  which  the  winds  and 


2  THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 

the  birds  sing  after  their  kind,  winter  and  sum- 
mer. 

A  sweet  and  grateful  spot  do  I  now  remem- 
ber that  Ardarroch  to  be,  and  in  these  later  days 
when  I  have  tried  so  mickle  of  bliss  and  teen, 
and  wearied  my  life  out  in  so  many  wanderings 
and  strivings,  my  heart  still  goes  out  kindly  to 
the  well-beloved  place  of  my  bairn-play. 

It  was  the  high  summer  of  the  fatal  year 
1685,  when  I  saw  the  sight  which  put  an  end  to 
my  childhood.  Well  do  I  mind  it  that  year, 
for  amongst  others,  my  father  had  to  go  for  a 
while  into  hiding — not  that  he  was  any  over- 
strenuous  Covenant  man,  but  solely  because  he 
had  never  in  his  life  refused  bite  and  sup  to  any 
neighbour  hard  pressed,  nor  yet  to  any  decent 
chiel  who  might  scarcely  be  able  to  give  an 
account  of  the  quarrel  he  had  with  the  Tyrant's 
laws. 

So,  during  his  absence,  my  brothers  and  I 
had  the  work  of  the  farm  to  attend  to.  No  dawn 
of  day  sifting  from  the  east  through  the  green- 
ery of  the  great  sloughing  beeches  and  firs 
about  the  door  ever  found  any  of  the  three  of  us 
in  our  beds.  For  me,  I  was  up  and  away  to  the 
hills — where  sometimes  in  the  full  lambing  time 
I  would  spend  all  night  on  the  heathery  fells  or 


THE   YEAR   TERRIBLE.  3 

among  the  lirks  and  hidden  dells  of  the  moun- 
tain fastnesses. 

And  oh,  but  it  was  pleasant  work  and  I  liked 
it  well!  The  breathing  airs;  the  wide,  starry 
arch  I  looked  up  into,  when  night  had  drawn 
her  night-cap  low  down  over  the  girdling 
blue-black  hills;  the  moon  glinting  on  the  breast 
of  Loch  Ken;  the  moor-birds,  whaup  and  snipe, 
plover  and  wild  duck  cheeping  and  chummer- 
ing  in  their  nests,  while  the  wood-doves'  moan 
rose  plaintive  from  every  copse  and  covert — it 
was  a  fit  birthplace  for  a  young  lad's  soul. 
Though  indeed  at  that  time  none  was  farther 
from  guessing  it  than  Quintin  MacClellan.  For 
as  I  went  hither  and  thither  I  pondered  on 
nothing  except  the  fine  hunger  the  hills  gave 
me,  and  the  glorious  draughts  of  whey  and  but- 
termilk my  mother  would  serve  out  to  me  on 
my  return,  calling  me  meantime  the  greatest 
and  silliest  of  her  calves,  besides  tweaking  my 
ears  at  the  milk-house  door  if  she  could  catch 
me  ere  I  set  my  bare  legs  twinkling  down  the 
loaning. 

For  the  time  being  I  say  nothing  more  of 
my  father,  "  douce  John  of  Ardarroch,"  as  all 
the  parish  called  him,  save  that  he  was  a  mod- 
erate man  and  no  high-flier  as  he  would  have 


4  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

described  himself — yet  out  of  whom  his  wife 
(and  my  good  mother)  had,  by  the  constant 
dropping  of  argument,  made  a  Covenant  man, 
and  even  a  fairly  consistent  follower  of  the  Hill 
Folk.  Neither  will  I  bide  to  speak  of  my 
brothers  Hob  and  David,  for  their  names  and 
characters  will  have  occasion  to  appear  as  I 
write  down  my  own  strange  history.  Nor  yet 
can  I  pause  to  tell  of  the  sweetness  and  grace  of 
my  sister  Anna,  whose  brown  eyes  held  a  charm 
which  even  my  boyish  and  brotherly  insensi- 
bility acknowledged  and  delighted  in,  being  my 
elder  by  half-a-dozen  years,  and  growing  up 
amongst  us  rough  louts  of  the  heather  like  a 
white  rose  in  the  stocky  corner  of  an  herb-gar- 
den. 

For  I  must  tell  of  myself  and  what  befell  me 
on  the  Bennan  top  the  twenty-first  day  of  June 
— high  Midsummer  Day  of  the  Year  Terrible, 
and  of  all  that  it  brought  to  me. 

I  had  heard,  indeed,  often  enough  of  chas- 
ings, of  prisonments,  of  men  and  women  sent 
away  over-seas  to  the  cruel  plantations,  of  the 
boot  and  the  thumbscrew,  of  the  blood  of  slain 
men  reddening  the  heather  behind  dyke-backs. 
There  was  indeed  little  talk  of  anything  else 
throughout  all  the  land  of  the  South  and  West. 


THE   YEAR   TERRIBLE.  5 

But  it  so  chanced  that  our  House  of  Ardarroch, 
being  set  high  up  on  the  side  of  Bennan,  and 
with  no  prominent  Covenanters  near  by  to  be 
a  mark  for  the  fury  of  the  persecutor,  we  Mac- 
Clellans  had  thus  far  escaped  unquestioned  and 
scathless. 

Once,  indeed,  Lidderdale  of  the  Isle,  with 
twenty  men,  had  made  us  a  visitation  and  in- 
quired somewhat  curiously  of  us,  and  specially 
of  my  mother,  whom  we  had  entertained  on 
such  a  night  and  whom  on  such  another.  After 
this  occasion  it  was  judged  expedient  that  my 
father  should  keep  wide  of  his  own  house  for  a 
while,  lest  the  strict  laws  against  intercommun- 
ing  *  should  lay  him  by  the  heels  in  the  gaol  of 

Kirkcudbright. 

But  to  the  young  and  healthy — so  long  at. 
least  as  there  is  clothing  for  the  back,  good 
filling  for  the  hungry  belly,  and  no  startling  and 
personal  evil  befal — tales  of  ill,  unseen  and  un- 
proven,  fall  on  the  ear  like  the  clatter  of  ancient 
head-shaking  beldames  croaking  to  each  other 


*  Tntercommuning— i.  e.,  entertaining,  assisting,  or  sheltering 
any  who  were  counted  unfriendly  to  the  Government,  or  had 
been  reported  by  the  curates  for  not  attending  church.  Even  the 
smallest  converse  with  proscribed  persons  was  thought  deserving 
of  the  pains  of  death. 


6  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

by  unswept  ingle-nooks.  At  least,  so  it  was 
with  me. 

But  to  my  tale  of  Midsummer  Day  of  the 
Terrible  Year. 

I  had  been  out,  since  earliest  morn,  over 
the  rough  rigs  of  heather  looking  tentily  to  my 
sheep,  for  I  had  been  "  hefting  "  (as  the  business 
is  called  in  our  Galloway  land)  a  double  score  of 
lambs  which  had  just  been  brought  from  a 
neighbouring  lowland  farm  to  summer  upon 
our  scanty  upland  pastures.  Now  it  is  the  na- 
ture of  sheep  to  return  if  they  can  to  their 
mother-hill,  or,  at  least,  to  stray  further  and 
further  seeking  some  well-known  landmark. 
So,  till  such  new-comers  grow  satisfied  and 
"  heft  "  (or  attach)  themselves  to  the  soil,  they 
must  be  watched  carefully  both  night  and  day. 

I  was  at  this  time  thirteen  years  of  my  age, 
well  nourished  and  light  of  foot  as  a  mountain 
goat.  Indeed,  there  was  not  a  goat  in  the  herd 
that  I  could  not  run  down  and  grip  by  the  neck. 
And  when  Hob,  my  elder  brother,  would  take 
after  me  because  of  some  mischief  I  had 
wrought,  I  warrant  he  had  a  long  chase  and  a 
sore  sweat  before  he  caught  me,  if  I  got  but  ten 
yards'  start  and  the  heather  free  before  me. 

This   day   I   had   a   couple    of   fine   muckle 


THE   YEAR   TERRIBLE.  7 

scones  in  my  pocket,  which  my  mother  had 
given  me,  besides  one  I  had  purloined  for  my- 
self when  she  was  not  looking,  but  which  my 
sister  Anna  had  seen  me  take  and  silently 
shaken  her  head.  That,  however,  I  minded  not 
a  fly.  Also  I  snatched  up  a  little  square  book 
from  the  window-sill,  hoping  that  in  it  I  might 
find  some  entertainment  to  while  away  the 
hours  in  the  bield  of  some  granite  stone  or  be- 
hind some  bush  of  heather.  But  I  found  it  to 
be  the  collect  of  Mr.  Samuel  Rutherford,  his 
letters  from  Aberdeen  and  Anwoth,  and  at  first 
I  counted  the  reading  of  it  dull  enough  work. 
But  afterwards,  because  of  the  names  of  kenned 
places  in  our  Galloway  and  also  the  fine  well- 
smacking  Scottish  words  in  it,  I  liked  it  none 
so  ill. 

Ashie  and  Gray,  my  dogs,  sat  on  either  side 
of  me.  Brother  and  sister  they  were,  of  one 
year  and  litter,  yet  diverse  as  any  human  brother 
and  sister — Ashie  being  gay  and  frisky,  ever  full 
of  freits  and  caperings;  his  sister  Gray,  on  the 
other  hand,  sober  as  a  hill-preaching  when 
Clavers  is  out  on  the  heather  looking  for  it. 

As  for  Ashie,  he  nipped  himself  in  the  flank 
and  pursued  after  his  own  tail  as  if  he  had  taken 
some  ill-will  at  it.     But  old-maidish  Gray  sat 


8  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

erect,  cocking  her  short  ears  and  keeping  a 
sharp  eye  on  the  "  hefting  "  lambs,  which  went 
aimlessly  straying  and  cropping  below,  seeking 
in  vain  for  holms  as  kindly  and  pastures  as  suc- 
culent as  those  of  the  valley-crofts  from  which 
my  father  had  driven  them  a  day  or  two  before. 

For  myself,  in  the  intervals  of  my  reading, 
I  had  been  singing  a  merry  stave,  one  you  may 
be  sure  that  I  did  not  let  my  mother  or  my 
sister  Anna  hear.  I  had  learnt  it  from  wild 
David,  who  had  brought  the  broad  sheet  back 
with  him  from  Keltonhill  Fair.  Thus  I  had 
been  carolling,  gay  as  the  laverock  which  I 
watched  flirting  and  pulsing  upwards  out  of  the 
dun  bents  of  the  fell.  But  after  a  while  the 
small  print  of  my  book  and,  perhaps,  aiso  the 
high  instructiveness  of  the  matter  inclined  me 
towards  sleep. 

The  bleating  of  the  sundered  lambs  desirous 
of  lost  motherly  udders  fell  more  soothingly 
and  plaintively  upon  my  ear.  It  seemed  to 
bring  dreams  pleasant  and  delightful  with  it.  I 
heard  the  note  sink  and  change  to  that  heavenly 
murmuring  that  comes  with  drowsiness,  or 
which,  mayhap,  is  but  the  sound  of  the  porter 
opening  the  Poppy  Gates  of  sleep — and  which 
may  break  yet  more  delightfully  on  our  ears 


THE   YEAR   TERRIBLE.  g 

when  the  gates  that  open  for  us  are  the  gates  of 
death. 

I  suppose  that  all  the  afternoon  the  whaups 
had  piped  and  "  willywhaaed,"  the  snipes 
bleated  and  whinnied  overhead,  and  that  the 
peewits  had  complained  to  each  other  of  the 
question  boy-beast  below  them,  which  ran  on 
two  legs  and  waved  other  two  so  foolishly  in  the 
air.  But  I  did  not  hear  them.  My  ears  were 
dulled.  The  moorland  sounds  melted  delicious- 
ly  into  the  very  sough  and  murmur  of  re- 
posefulness.  I  was  already  well  on  my  way  to 
Drowsieland.  I  heard  my  mother  sing  me  a 
lullaby  somewhere  among  the  tranced  fields. 
Suddenly  the  cradle-song  ceased.  Through 
shut  eyelids  I  grew  conscious  of  a  disturbing 
influence.  Though  my  face  nestled  deep  down 
in  the  crook  of  my  arm  I  knew  that  Ashie  and 
Gray  had  all  suddenly  sat  up. 

"  Ouf-f!  "  quoth  Ashie  protestingly,  deep  in 
his  stomach  so  that  the  sound  would  carry  no 
further  than  his  master's  ear. 

"  Gur-r-r! "  growled  Gray,  his  sister,  yet 
more  softly,  the  black  wicks  of  her  mouth  pulled 
away  from  her  wicked  shining  eye-teeth. 

Thinking  that  the  sheep  were  straying  and 
that  it  might  be  as  well  by  a  timely  shout  to 


IO  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

save  myself  miles  and  miles  of  hot  chase  over 
the  heather,  I  sat  up,  ungraciously  discontented 
to  be  thus  aroused,  and  yet  more  unreasonably 
angry  with  the  dogs  whose  watchfulness  had  re- 
called me  to  the  realities  of  life.  As  I  raised 
my  head,  the  sounds  of  the  hills  broke  on  my 
ear  suddenly  loud — indeed  almost  insolently 
insistant.  The  suppressed  far-away  hush  of 
Dreamland  scattered  itself  like  a  broken  glass 
before  the  brisk  clamour  of  the  broad  wind- 
stirred  day. 

I  glanced  at  the  flock  beneath  me.  They 
were  feeding  and  straying  quietly  enough — 
rather  widely  perhaps,  but  nothing  to  make  a 
fret  about. 

'Restless  tykes!"  I  muttered  irritably, 
striking  right  and  left  at  the  dogs  with  my  staff. 
'  De'il  take  you,  silly  beasts  that  ye  are!" 

"  Ouf-fl "  said  Ashie,  warningly  as  before, 
but  from  a  safer  distance,  his  nose  pointing 
directly  away  from  the  hefting  lambs.  Gray 
said  nothing,  but  uncovered  her  shining  teeth 
a  little  further  and  cocked  her  ears  more  di- 
rectly towards  the  summit  of  the  Bennan  be- 
hind me. 

I  looked  about  me  high  and  low,  but  still  I 
could  see  no  cause  for  alarm. 


THE   YEAR   TERRIBLE.  Ir 

"Daft  brutes!  Silly  beasts!"  I  cried  again 
more  crossly  than  ever.  And  with  that  I  was 
about  to  consign  myself  to  sleep  again,  or  at 
least  to  seek  the  pleasant  paths  of  the  day- 
dreamland  from  which  I  had  been  so  abruptly 
recalled. 

But  the  dogs  with  bristling  hair,  cocked  ears 
and  proudly-plumaged  tails  were  already  ten 
yards  up  the  slope  towards  the  top  of  the  fell, 
sniffing  belligerently  as  though  they  scented 
an  intrusive  stranger  dog  at  the  entering  in  of 
the  sacred  enclosure  of  the  farmyard  of  Ardar- 
roch. 

I  was  reaching  for  my  stick  to  deal  it  liber- 
ally between  them  when  a  waft  of  warm  summer 
wind  brought  to  my  ear  the  sound  of  the  dis- 
tant crying  of  men.  Then  came  the  clear,  im- 
perative "Crack!  Crack!"  of  musket  shots — 
first  two,  and  then  half-a-dozen  close  together, 
sharp  and  distinct  as  an  eager  schoolboy  snap- 
ping his  finger  and  thumb  to  call  the  attention 
of  the  master  to  whom  he  has  been  forbidden  to 
speak. 

Then,  again,  on  the  back  of  this  arrived  si- 
lence, issuing  presently  in  a  great  disturbed 
clamour  of  peewit  flocks  on  the  table-lands 
above  me,  clouds  of  them  stooping  and  swoop- 


12  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

ing,  screaming  and  scolding  at  some  unlicensed 
and  unprincipled  intruders  by  me  unseen. 

I  knew  well  what  it  meant  in  a  moment. 
The  man-hunt  was  afoot.  The  folk  of  God  were 
once  more  being  pursued  like  the  partridge 
upon  the  mountain.  It  might  be  that  the  blood 
of  my  own  father  was  even  now  making  another 
crimson  blossom  of  martyr  blood  upon  the 
moors  of  Scotland. 

'Down,  down,  Ashie!"  I  cried,  but  under 
my  breath.  "Come  in  to  my  foot,  Gray!" 
And,  knowing  by  the  voice  that  I  was  much 
in  earnest,  very  obediently  the  dogs  slung  be- 
hind with,  however,  many  little  protesting 
"  gurrs  "  and  chest  rumblings  of  muffled  rage. 

"  It  must  be  Lag  himself  from  the  Garry- 
horn,"  I  thought;  "  he  will  be  at  his  old  work 
of  pursuing  the  wanderers  with  bloodhound  and 
troop-horse." 

Then,  with  the  craft  which  had  perhaps  been 
born  in  me  and  which  had  certainly  been  fos- 
tered by  the  years  of  watching  and  hiding,  of 
open  hatred  and  secret  suspicion,  I  crept  cau- 
tiously up  the  side  of  the  fell,  taking  advantage 
of  every  tummock  of  heather  and  boss  of  tall 
bent  grass.  Ashie  and  Gray  crawled  after  me, 
stiff  with  intent  hate,  but  every  whit  as  flatly 


THE   YEAR   TERRIBLE.  j, 

prone  and  as  infinitely  cautious  as  their  mas- 
ter. 

For  they,  too,  had  been  born  in  the  Days  of 
Fear,  and  the  spirit  of  the  game  had  entered 
into  them  ere  ever  they  emerged  from  the 
blindness  of  puppydom. 

As  we  ascended,  nearer  and  nearer  sounded 
the  turmoil.  I  heard,  as  it  were,  the  sound  of 
men's  voices  encouraging  each  other,  as  the 
huntsmen  do  on  the  hillsides  when  they  drive 
the  red  fox  from  his  lair.  Then  came  the  bay- 
ing of  dogs  and  the  clattering  of  irregular  mus- 
ketry. 

Till  now  the  collies  and  I  had  been  sheltered 
by  the  grey  clints  and  lichened  rocks  of  the 
Bennan,  but  now  we  had  to  come  out  into  the 
open.  The  last  thirty  yards  of  ascent  were  bare 
and  shelterless,  the  short,  mossy  scalp  of  turf 
upon  them  being  clean  shaven  as  if  cut  with  a 
razor. 

My  heart  beat  fast,  I  can  tell  you  who  read 
this  tale  so  comfortably  by  the  ingle-nook.  I 
held  it  down  with  my  hand  as  I  crept  upwards. 
Ashie  and  Gray  followed  like  four-footed  guard- 
ian angels  behind,  now  dragging  themselves 
painfully  yard  by  yard  upon  their  bellies,  now 
lying  motionless  as  stone  statues,  their  moist 


I4  THE    STANDARD   BEARER. 

jowls  pressed  to  the  ground  and  their  dilated 
nostrils  snuffing  the  air  for  the  intelligence 
which  only  my  duller  eyes  could  bring  me. 

Yet  I  knew  the  risks  of  the  attempt.  For  as 
soon  as  I  had  left  the  shelter  of  the  boulders  and 
scattered  clumps  of  heather  and  bent,  I  was 
plain  to  the  sight  as  a  fly  crawling  over  the  shell 
of  an  egg. 

Nevertheless,  with  a  quick  rush  I  reached 
the  top  and  set  my  head  over. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE    BLOOD    OF   THE    MARTYRS. 

The  broad,  flat  table-top  of  the  Bennan  sum- 
mit spread  out  before  me  like  an  exercise  ground 
for  troops  or  a  racecourse  for  horses. 

Yet  not  all  barren  or  desolate,  for  here  and 
there  among  the  grey  granite  peeped  forth  the 
bloom  of  the  young  heather,  making  a  livelier 
purple  amid  the  burnt  brown  of  the  short  grass, 
which  in  its  turn  was  diversified  by  the  vivid 
emerald  green  circling  the  "  quacking-quaas  " 
or  bottomless  moss-holes  of  the  bogs  be- 
neath. 

Now  this  is  what  I  saw,  lying  on  my  face, 
with  no  more  than  my  chin  set  over  the  edge — 
two  men  in  tattered,  peat-stained  clothing  run- 
ning for  their  lives  towards  the  edge  of  the  little 
plateau  farthest  from  me. 

Between    me   and    them    twenty    or    thirty 

dragoons  were  urging  their  horses  forward  in 

pursuit,  weaving  this  way  and  that  among  the 

15 


l6  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

soft  lairy  places,  and  as  many  more  whose  steeds 
had  stuck  fast  in  the  moss  were  coursing  the 
fugitives  on  foot  as  though  the  poor  men  had 
been  beasts  of  the  field. 

Every  now  and  then  one  of  the  pursuers 
would  stop,  set  his  musket  to  his  shoulder  and 
blaze  away  with  a  loud  report  and  a  drift  of 
white  smoke,  shouting  joyously  as  at  a  rare  jest 
whether  he  hit  or  missed.  And  I  thought  that 
the  poor  lads  would  make  good  their  escape 
with  such  sorry  marksmen.  But  even  whilst  I 
was  putting  up  a  prayer  for  them  as  I  lay  pant- 
ing upon  the  manifest  edge,  a  chance  shot 
struck  the  smaller  and  more  slender  of  the  wan- 
derers. He  stumbled,  poor  wretch,  and  fell  for- 
ward upon  his  face.  Then,  mastering  himself, 
and  recognising  his  grievous  case  and  how 
much  of  mercy  he  had  to  look  for  if  his  enemies 
came  up  with  him,  his  strong  spirit  for  an  in- 
stant conquered  his  bodily  hurt. 

He  rose  immediately,  set  his  hands  one  over 
the  other  upon  his  side,  doubtless  to  stay  the 
welling  gap  the  bullet  had  riven  there,  and  ran 
yet  more  determinedly  after  his  companion. 
But  close  to  the  further  verge  his  power  went 
from  him.  His  companion  halted  and  would 
have  come  back  to  aid  him,  or  more  likely  to 


THE   BLOOD   OF   THE   MARTYRS. 


17 


die  with  him.  But  the  wounded  man  threw 
out  his  hand  in  vehement  protest. 

"  Run,  Sandy,"  he  cried,  so  loudly  and 
eagerly  that  I  could  easily  hear  him  through 
all  the  shouting  and  pother.  "  It  will  do  no 
good.  I  am  sped.  Save  yourself — God  have 
mercy — tell  Margaret !  " 

But  what  he  would  have  told  Margaret  I 
know  not,  for  even  then  he  spread  out  his  arms 
and  fell  forward  on  his  face  in  the  spongy  moss. 

At  this  his  companion  turned  sharply  and 
ran  on  by  himself,  finally  disappearing  among 
the  granite  boulders  amid  a  brisk  crackling  of 
the  soldiers'  pieces. 

But  their  marksmanship  was  poor,  for  though 
they  were  near  to  him,  what  with  the  breathless 
race  and  the  unevenness  of  the  ground,  not  a 
shot  took  effect.  Nor  showed  he  any  sign  of 
scathe  when  last  I  saw  him,  leaping  nimbly  from 
clump  to  clump  of  bent,  where  the  green  slimy 
moss  wet  with  the  peat-brew  keeps  all  soft  as  a 
quicksand,  so  that  neither  hoof  of  a  charger 
nor  heavy  military  boot  dare  venture  upon  it, 
though  the  bare  accustomed  foot  of  one  bred 
to  the  hills  may  carry  him  across  easily  enough. 
So  the  fugitive,  a  tall,  burly  man,  cumbered  with 
little  besides  a  doublet  and  short  hose,  disap- 


!8  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

peared  out  of  my  sight,  and  the  plain  was  bare 
save  for  the  disappointed  dragoons  in  their  red 
coats  and  the  poor  man  left  fallen  on  his  face  in 
the  morass. 

I  could  never  see  him  move  hand  or  foot 
after  he  fell;  and,  indeed,  it  was  not  long  that 
he  had  the  chance.  For  even  as  I  continued  to 
gaze  fascinated  at  the  scene  of  blood  which  so 
suddenly  had  broken  in  upon  the  pastoral  peace 
of  our  Kells  hills,  I  saw  a  tall,  dark  soldier,  one 
evidently  of  some  authority  among  them,  stride 
up  to  the  fallen  man.  He  strove  to  turn  him 
over  with  his  foot,  but  the  moss  clung,  and  he 
could  not.  So  without  a  moment's  hesitation 
he  took  a  musket  from  the  nearest  dragoon, 
glanced  coolly  at  the  priming  of  the  touch,  set 
the  butt  to  his  shoulder,  and  with  the  muzzle 
within  a  foot  shot  the  full  charge  into  the  back 
of  the  prostrate  man. 

At  this  I  could  command  myself  no  longer. 
The  pursuit  and  the  shooting  at  the  fugitives, 
even  the  killing  when  at  least  they  had  a  chance 
for  their  lives,  seemed  nothing  to  this  stony- 
hearted butchery.  I  gat  me  up  on  my  feet,  and 
in  a  boyish  frenzy  shouted  curses  upon  the  mur- 
derer. 

"  God  shall  send  thee  to  hell  for  this,  wicked 


THE   BLOOD   OF  THE   MARTYRS. 


19 


man,  black  murderer  that  thou  art ! '  I  cried, 
shaking  my  clenched  hand,  like  the  angry  im- 
potent child  I  was. 

The  soldiers  who  were  searching  here  and 
there,  as  it  were,  for  more  victims  among  the 
coverts  turned  their  heads  my  way  and  gazed, 
hearing  the  voice  but  seeing  no  man.  Others 
who  stood  upon  the  verge,  taking  shots  as  fast 
as  they  could  load  at  the  man  who  had  escaped, 
also  turned.  I  yelled  at  them  that  they  were  to 
show  themselves  brave  soldiers,  and  shoot  me 
also.  The  tall,  dark  buirdly  man  in  the  red  coat 
who  had  fired  into  the  wounded  man  cried  to 
them  "  to  take  a  shot  at  the  damned  young 
Whig."  But  I  think  the  men  were  all  too  much 
surprised  at  my  bold  words  to  do  it,  for  none 
moved,  so  that  the  speaker  was  obliged  to 
snatch  a  pistol  from  his  own  belt,  and  let  fly  at 
me  himself. 

The  whistle  of  the  pistol  ball  as  it  sped  harm- 
lessly by  waked  me  as  from  a  dream.  A  quick 
horror  took  me  by  the  throat.  I  seemed  to  see 
myself  laid  face  down  on  the  turf  and  the  mur- 
derer of  the  poor  wanderer  pouring  shot  after 
shot  into  my  back.  I  felt  my  knees  tremble, 
and  it  seemed  (as  it  often  does  in  a  nightmare) 
that  if  he  pursued  I  should  be  unable  to  move. 


2o  THE    STANDARD   BEARER. 

But  even  as  I  saw  the  man  in  red  reach  for  his 
other  pistol  the  power  came  back  to  my  limbs. 

I  turned  and  ran  without  knowing  it,  for  the 
next  thing  I  remember  was  the  scuff  of  the  wind 
about  my  ears  as  I  sped  recklessly  down  the 
steepest  slope,  with  no  feeling  that  my  feet  were 
touching  the  ground  at  all.  I  saw  Ashie  and 
Gray  scouring  far  before  me,  with  their  tails 
clapped  between  their  legs,  for  I  suppose  that 
their  master's  fear  had  communicated  itself  to 
them.  Yet  all  the  time  I  knew  well  that  a 
single  false  step,  a  stumble  upon  a  twisted  root 
of  burnt  heather,  a  treacherous  clump  of  grass 
amid  the  green  slime  of  the  morass,  and  the  fate 
of  the  fallen  martyr  would  be  mine. 

But  ere  I  passed  quite  out  of  range  1  heard 
the  rattle  of  a  dropping  fusillade  from  the  edge 
of  the  hill  above  me,  as  a  number  of  the  soldiers 
let  off  their  pieces  at  me,  firing,  I  think,  half  in 
sport  and  half  from  a  feeling  of  chagrin  that 
they  had  let  a  more  important  victim  escape 
them.  I  heard  the  whisk-whisk  of  the  balls  as 
they  flew  wide,  and  one  whizzed  past  my  ear  and 
buried  itself  with  a  vicious  spit  in  the  moss  a 
yard  or  two  before  me  as  I  ran — but  all  harm- 
less, and  soon  I  was  out  of  range.  For  I  think 
it  was  more  in  cruel  jest  and  with  raffish  laugh- 


THE   BLOOD   OF   THE    MARTYRS.  2I 

ter  than  with  any  intent  to  harm  me  that  the 
soldiers  fired. 

Nevertheless,  my  boy's  heart  was  full  of  wild 
fear.  I  had  seen  murder  done.  The  wholesome 
green  earth  was  spotted  black  with  crime.  Red 
motes  danced  in  the  sunshine.  The  sun  himself 
in  thewide  blue  heavens  seemed  turned  to  blood. 

Then,  all  suddenly,  I  thought  of  my  mother, 
and  my  heart  stood  still.  It  would  soon  be 
the  hour  at  which  it  was  her  custom  to  take 
out  victual  to  the  little  craggy  linn  where  my 
father  was  in  hiding.  So  with  a  new  access  of 
terror  I  turned  towards  our  house  of  Ardarroch, 
and  ran  to  warn  her  of  what  I  had  seen  upon 
the  Bennan  top. 

I  felt  as  I  sped  along  that  life  could  never  be 
the  same  to  me  again.  From  a  heedless  boy  I 
had  grown  into  a  man  in  one  unutterable  hour. 
I  had,  of  course,  heard  much  of  killings,  and 
even  as  a  child  the  relation  of  the  cruelties  of 
the  Highland  Host  had  impressed  me  so  that 
the  red  glinting  of  a  soldier's  coat  would  send 
me  into  the  deepest  thickets  of  Ardarroch  wood. 
But  it  was  the  musket  shot  poured  into  the 
back  of  the  poor  helpless  lad  on  the  Bennan 
that  made  a  lifelong  Covenanter  of  Quintin 
MacClellan. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    LITTLE    LADY    OF    EARLSTOUN. 

But  it  was  not  the  will  of  God  that  I  should 
warn  my  mother  that  day;  for  even  as  I  ran, 
threading  my  way  among  the  scattered  boulders 
and  whin  bushes  of  the  lower  slopes,  I  came 
upon  that  which  surprised  me  almost  as  greatly 
as  the  shooting  itself. 

Right  in  my  path  a  little  girl  was  sitting  on 
a  green  mound  like  a  deserted  ant  hillock.  She 
had  long  yellow  hair,  and  a  red  cloak  was  about 
her,  with  a  hood  to  it,  which  came  over  her  head 
and  partly  shaded  her  brow.  A  wooden  pail 
had  been  placed  carefully  on  the  heather  at  her 
feet.  Now,  what  with  the  perturbation  of  my 
spirits  and  my  head  being  full  of  country  tales  of 
bogles  and  elves,  at  the  first  glance  I  took  the 
maid  for  one  of  these,  and  would  have  avoided 
and  given  her  a  wide  berth  as  something  much 
less  than  canny. 

But  she  wiped  her  eyes  with  her  little  white 

22 


THE   LITTLE    LADY   OF   EARLSTOUN. 


23 


hand,  and  as  I  looked  more  closely  I  saw  that 
she  had  been  crying,  for  her  face  was  rubbed 
red,  and  her  cheeks  all  harrowed  and  begrutten 
with  tears. 

So  at  that  I  feared  no  more,  but  went  nearer. 
She  seemed  about  seven  or  eight,  and  very  well 
grown  for  her  age. 

"Why  do  you  cry,  little  maid?  "  I  said  to 
her,  standing  before  her  in  the  green  path. 

For  a  while  she  did  not  answer,  but  contin- 
ued to  sob.  I  went  near  to  comfort  her,  but  she 
thrust  her  hand  impatiently  out  at  me. 

'  Do  not  touch  me,  ragged  boy,"  she  said; 
"  it  is  not  for  herd  laddies  to  touch  little  ladies." 

And  she  spoke  the  words  with  such  might- 
ily offended  dignity  that  on  another  occasion  I 
would  have  laughed. 

Then  she  commanded  herself  and  dried  her 
eyes  on  her  red  cloak. 

"  Carry  the  can  and  come  with  me  to  find 
my  father,"  she  ordered,  pointing  imperiously 
with  her  finger  as  if  I  had  been  no  better  than 
a  blackamoor  slave  in  the  plantations. 

I  lifted  the  wooden  pail.     It  contained,  as  I 

think,  cakes  of  oatmeal  with  cheese  and  butter 

wrapped  in  green  leaves.     But   the  little  girl 

would  not  let  me  so  much  as  look  within. 
3 


24 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


'These  are  for  my  father,"  she  said;  "my 
father  is  the  greatest  man  in  the  whole  world!  " 

"  But  who  may  your  father  be,  little  one?  ': 
I  asked  her,  standing  stock  still  on  the  green 
highway  with  the  can  in  my  hand.  She  was 
daintily  arranging  the  cloak  about  her  like  a 
fine  lady.  She  paused,  and  looked  at  me  very 
grave  and  not  a  little  indignant. 

"  That  is  not  for  you  to  know,"  she  said, 
with  dignity;  "follow  me  with  the  pail." 

So  saying  she  stalked  away  with  dignified 
carriage  in  the  direction  of  the  hill-top.  A  wild 
fear  seized  me.  One  of  the  two  men  I  had  seen 
fleeing  might  be  the  little  girl's  father.  Per- 
haps he  into  whose  back — ah!  at  all  hazards  I 
must  not  let  her  go  that  way. 

"  Could  we  not  rest  awhile  here,"  I  sug- 
gested, "  here  behind  this  bush?  There  are 
wicked  men  upon  the  hill,  and  they  might  take 
away  the  pail  from  us." 

"  Then  my  father  would  kill  them,"  she  said, 
shaking  her  head  sagely,  but  never  stopping 
a  moment  on  her  upward  way.  '  Besides,  my 
mother  told  me  to  take  the  pail  to  the  hill-top 
and  stand  there  in  my  red  cloak  till  my  father 
should  come.  But  it  was  so  hot  and  the  pail  so 
heavy  that " 


THE   LITTLE    LADY   OF   EARLSTOUN.         2$ 

"  That  you  cried?  "  I  said  as  she  stopped. 

"  Nay,"  she  answered  with  an  offended  look; 
"  little  ladies  do  not  cry.  I  was  only  sorry  out 
loud  that  my  father  should  be  kept  waiting  so 
long." 

"  And  your  mother  sent  you  all  this  way  by 
yourself;  was  not  that  cruel  of  her?  "  I  went  on 
to  try  her. 

"  Little  ragged  boy,"  she  said,  looking  at 
me  with  a  certain  compassion,  "  you  do  not 
know  what  you  are  saying.  I  cannot,  indeed, 
tell  you  who  my  father  is,  but  I  am  Mary 
Gordon,  and  my  mother  is  the  Lady  of  Earls- 
toun." 

So  I  was  speaking  to  the  daughter  of  Alex- 
ander Gordon  of  Earlstoun,  the  most  famous 
Covenanter  in  Scotland,  and,  next  to  my  Lord 
Viscount  of  Kenmure,  the  chief  landowner  in 
our  countryside. 

"  And  have  you  come  alone  all  the  way  from 
Earlstoun  hither?  "  I  asked  in  astonishment,  for 
the  distance  was  at  least  four  or  five  miles  and 
the  road  rough  and  ill-trodden. 

"  Nay,"  she  made  answer,  "  not  so.  My 
mother  set  me  so  far  upon  the  way,  and  now  she 
waits  for  me  by  the  bushes  yonder,  so  that  I 
must  make  haste  and  return.     We  came  in  a 


26  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

boat  to  your  water-foot  down  there  where  the 
little  bay  is  and  the  pretty  white  sand. 

And  she  pointed  with  her  hand  to  where  the 
peaty  water  of  the  moorland  stream  mingled 
with  and  stained  the  deep  blue  of  the  loch. 

"  Haste  you,  laddie,"  she  cried  sharply  a 
moment  after;  "  my  father  is  not  a  one  to  be 
kept  waiting.  He  will  be  impatient  and  angry. 
And  because  he  is  so  great  a  man  his  anger  is 
hard  to  bide." 

"  You  must  not  go  up  to  the  hill-top,"  I 
said,  "  for  there  are  many  bad  men  on  the  Ben- 
nan  to-day,  and  they  would  perhaps  kill  you." 

"  But  my  father  is  there,"  said  she,  stopping 
and  looking  at  me  reproachfully.  '  I  must  go; 
my  mother  bade  me." 

And  haply  at  that  moment  I  saw  the  entire 
company  of  soldiers,  led  by  the  man  in  the  red 
coat,  stringing  down  the  farther  side  of  the 
mountain  in  the  line  of  flight  by  which  the  sec- 
ond fugitive  had  made  good  his  escape.  So  I 
judged  it  might  be  as  well  to  satisfy  the  lass  and 
let  her  go  on  to  the  top.  Indeed,  short  of  laying 
hold  of  her  by  force,  I  knew  not  well  how  to 
hinder  so  instant  and  imperious  a  dame. 

Besides,  I  thought  that  by  a  little  general- 
ship I  would  be  able  to  keep  her  wide  of  the 


THE   LITTLE   LADY   OF   EARLSTOUN. 


27 


place  where   lay   the   poor   body   of   the   slain 
man. 

So  straight  up  the  hill  upon  which  I  had 
seen  such  terrible  things  we  went,  Ashie  and 
Gray  slinking  unwillingly  and  shamefacedly  be- 
hind. And  as  I  went  I  cast  an  eye  to  my  flock. 
And  it  appeared  strange  to  me  that  the  lambs 
should  still  be  feeding  quietly  and  peacefully 
down  there,  cropping  and  straying  on  the  green 
scattered  pastures  of  Ardarroch.  Yet  in  the 
interval  all  the  world  had  changed  to  me. 

We  reached  the  summit. 

"  Here  is  the  place  I  was  to  wait  for  my 
father,"  said  Mary  Gordon.  '  I  must  arrange 
my  hair,  little  boy,  for  my  father  loves  to  see  me 
well-ordered,  though  he  is  indeed  himself  most 
careless  in  his  attiring." 

She  gave  vent  to  a  long  sigh,  as  if  her  father's 
delinquencies  of  toilette  had  proved  a  matter  of 
lifelong  sorrow  to  her. 

"  But  then,  you  see,  my  father  is  a  great 
man  and  does  as  he  pleases." 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  brow  and  looked 
under  the  sun  this  way  and  that  over  the  moor. 

"  There  are  so  many  evil  men  hereabout — 
your  father  may  have  gone  down  the  further 
side  to  escape  them,"  I  said.     For  I  desired  to 


28  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

withdraw  her  gaze  from  the  northern  verge  of 
the  tableland,  where,  as  I  well  knew,  lay  a  poor 
riven  body,  which,  for  all  I  knew,  might  be  that 
of  the  little  maid's  father,  silent,  shapeless,  and 
for  ever  at  rest. 

'  Let  us  go  there,  then,  and  wait,"  she  said, 
more  placably  and  in  more  docile  fashion  than 
she  had  yet  shown. 

So  we  crossed  the  short  crisp  heather,  and 
I  walked  between  her  and  that  which  lay  off 
upon  our  right  hand,  so  that  she  should  not 
see  it. 

But  the  dogs  Ashie  and  Gray  were  almost 
too  much  for  me.  For  they  had  gone  straight 
to  the  body  of  the  slain  man,  and  Ashie,  ill-con- 
ditioned brute,  sat  him  down  as  a  dog  does 
when  he  bays  the  moon,  and,  stretching  out 
his  neck  and  head  towards  the  sky,  he  gave 
vent  to  his  feelings  in  a  long  howl  of  agony. 
Gray  snuffed  at  the  body,  but  contented  her- 
self with  a  sharp  occasional  snarl  of  angry  pro- 
test. 

'  What  is  that  the  dogs  have  found  over 
there?  "  said  the  little  maid,  looking  round  me. 

'  Some  dead  sheep  or  other;  there  are  many 
of  them  about,"  I  answered,  with  shameless 
mendacity. 


THE    LITTLE   LADY  OF   EARLSTOUN.  29 

"  Have  your  Bennan  sheep  brown  coats?  ': 
she  asked,  innocently  enough. 

I  looked  and  saw  that  the  homespun  of  the 
man's  attire  was  plain  to  be  seen.  '  My  father 
has  been  here  before  me,  and  has  cast  his  mantle 
over  the  sheep  to  keep  the  body  from  the  sun 
and  the  flies." 

For  which  lie  the  Lord  will,  I  trust,  pardon 
me,  considering  the  necessity  and  that  I  was 
but  a  lad. 

At  any  rate  the  maid  was  satisfied,  and  we 
took  our  way  to  the  northern  edge  of  the  Ben- 
nan  top. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

MY    SISTER    ANNA. 

Wending  our  way  through  the  tangle  of 
brown  morass  and  grey  boulder,  we  arrived,  the 
little  maid  and  I,  at  the  extremity  of  the  spur 
which  looks  towards  the  north.  Immediately 
beneath  us,  already  filling  in  with  the  oozy  peat, 
I  saw  the  ploughing  steps  of  the  successful  fugi- 
tive, where  he  had  leaped  and  slid  down  the  soft 
mossy  slopes.  There  to  the  right  was  the  harder 
path  by  which  the  dragoons  had  led  their  horses, 
jibbing  and  stumbling  as  they  went.  But  all 
were  now  passed  away,  and  the  landscape  from 
verge  to  verge  was  bare  and  empty  save  for  a 
few  scarlet  dots  bobbing  and  weaving  athwart 
one  another  down  on  the  lake-shore,  as  the  sol- 
diers drew  near  their  camp.  Even  the  clamor- 
ous peewits  had  returned,  and  were  already 
sweeping  and  complaining  foolishly  overhead, 

doubtless  telling  each  other  the  tale   of  how 
30 


MY   SISTER     ANNA.  3! 

the  noise  and  white-blowing  smoke  had  fright- 
ened them  from  their  eggs  among  the  heather. 

The  little  lass  stood  awhile  and  gazed  about 
her. 

'  Certainly  my  father  will  see  me  now,"  she 
said,  cheerfully  enough;  "  I  am  sure  he  will  be 
looking,  and  then  he  will  know  that  all  is  well 
when  his  little  girl  is  here." 

And  she  looked  as  if  she  were  ready  to  pro- 
tect Alexander  Gordon  of  Earlstoun  against 
Lag  and  all  his  troopers.  But  after  a  little  I 
saw  an  anxious  look  steal  over  her  face. 

'  He  is  not  coming.  He  does  not  see  his 
little  Mary!  "  she  said,  wistfully. 

Then  she  ran  to  the  top  of  the  highest  knoll, 
and  taking  off  her  red  cloak  she  waved  it,  crying 
out,  "  Father,  father,  it  is  I — little  Mary!  Do 
not  be  afraid!  " 

A  pair  of  screeching  wildfowl  swooped  in- 
dignantly nearer,  but  no  other  voice  replied.  I 
feared  that  she  might  insist  upon  examining 
that  which  lay  under  the  brown  coat,  for  that 
it  covered  either  her  father  or  one  of  her  kins- 
folk I  was  well  persuaded.  The  Bennan  top 
had  been  without  doubt  the  hiding-place  of 
many  besides  Alexander  Gordon.  But  at  this 
time  none  were  sought  for  in  the  Glenkens  save 


32 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


the  man  upon  whose  head,  because  of  the  late 
plot  anent  the  King's  life,  there  was  set  so  great 
a  price.  And,  moreover,  had  the  lady  of  Earls- 
toun  not  sent  her  daughter  to  that  very  place 
with  provender,  as  being  the  more  likely  to  win 
through  to  her  husband  unharmed  and  unsus- 
pected? 

Suddenly  Mary  burst  into  tears. 

"I  can  not  find  him!"  she  cried;  "and  he 
will  be  so  hungry,  and  think  that  his  little 
girl  dared  not  come  to  find  him!  Besides,  all 
the  oaten  cakes  that  were  baked  but  this  morn- 
ing will  be  quite  spoiled!  " 

I  tried  my  best  to  comfort  her,  but  she 
would  not  let  me  so  much  as  touch  her.  And, 
being  an  ignorant  landward  lad,  I  could  not 
find  the  fitting  words  wherewithal  to  speak  to  a 
maiden  gently  bred  like  the  little  Mary  Gordon. 

At  last,  however,  she  dried  her  tears.  '  Let 
us  leave  the  cakes  here,  and  take  the  basket 
and  go  our  way  back  again.  For  the  lady  my 
mother  will  be  weary  with  waiting  for  me  so 
long  by  the  waterside." 

So  we  two  went  down  the  hill  again  very 
sadly,  and  as  we  passed  by  she  cast  her  eyes 
curiously  over  at  the  poor  lad  who  lay  so  still  on 
his  face  in  the  soft  lair  of  the  peat  moss. 


MY   SISTER   ANNA. 


33 


"That  is  a  strange  sheep,"  she  said;  "it 
looks  more  like  a  man  lying  asleep." 

So,  passing  by,  we  went  down  both  of  us 
together,  and  as  we  pushed  a  way  through  the 
bracken  towards  our  own  house  of  Ardarroch, 
I  saw  my  sister  Anna  come  up  the  burn-side 
among  the  light  flickering  shadows  of  the  birch 
and  alder  bushes.  And  when  we  came  nearer 
to  her  I  saw  that  she,  too,  had  been  weeping. 
Now  this  also  went  to  my  heart  with  a  heavy 
sense  of  the  beginning  of  unknown  troubles. 
Ever  since,  from  my  sweet  sleep  of  security  on 
the  hillside  I  had  been  suddenly  flung  into  the 
midst  of  a  troublous  sea,  there  seemed  no  end  to 
the  griefs,  like  waves  that  press  behind  each 
other  rank  behind  rank  to  the  horizon. 

"  Has  my  father  been  taken?  "  I  cried  anx- 
iously to  Anna,  as  she  came  near.  For  that 
was  our  chief  household  fear  at  that  time. 

"  Nay,"  she  answered,  standing  still  to  look 
in  astonishment  at  my  little  companion;  "but 
there  are  soldiers  in  the  house,  and  they  have 
turned  everything  this  way  and  that  to  seek  for 
him,  and  have  also  dealt  roughly  with  my 
mother." 

Hearing  which,  I  was  for  running  down  to 
help,  but  Anna  bade  me  to  bide  where  I  was.    I 


34  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

would  only  do  harm,  she  said.  She  had  been 
sent  to  keep  Hob  and  David  on  the  hill,  my 
mother  being  well  assured  that  the  soldiers 
would  do  her  no  harm  for  all  the  roughness  of 
their  talk. 

"  And  who  is  this? "  said  Anna,  looking 
kindly  down  at  little  Mary  Gordon. 

I  expected  the  little  maid  to  answer  as  high 
and  quick  as  she  had  done  to  me;  but  she  stood 
fixed  and  intent  awhile  upon  Anna,  and  then 
she  went  directly  up  to  her  and  put  her  hand 
into  that  of  my  sister.  There  was  ever,  indeed, 
that  about  Anna  which  drew  all  children  to  her. 
And  now  the  proud  daughter  of  the  laird  of 
Earlstoun  went  to  her  as  readily  as  a  tottering 
cottar's  bairn. 

"  You  will  take  me  to  my  mother,  will  you 
not?"  she  said,  nestling  contentedly  with  her 
cheek  against  Anna's  homespun  kirtle. 

"  That  will  I,  and  blithely,  lambie!  "  my  sis- 
ter answered,  heartily,  "  if  ye  will  tell  me  who 
the  mother  o'  ye  may  be,  and  where  she  bides." 

But  when  I  had  told  her,  I  saw  Anna  look 
suddenly  blank,  and  the  colour  fade  from  her 
face. 

"  By  the  waterside — your  mother!  "  she  said, 
with  a  kind  of  fluttering  uncertain  apprehension 


MY   SISTER   ANNA. 


35 


in  her  voice.  For  my  sister  Anna's  voice  was 
like  a  stringed  instrument,  quavering  and  thrill- 
ing to  the  least  thought  of  her  heart. 

We  three  turned  to  go  down  the  hill  to  the 
waterside.  I  caught  Anna's  eye,  and,  observ- 
ing by  its  signalling  that  she  wished  to  speak 
with  me  apart,  I  allowed  the  little  girl  to  pre- 
cede us  on  the  winding  sheep  track,  which  was 
all  the  path  leading  up  the  Bennan  side. 

"  The  soldiers  had  taken  her  mother  away 
with  them  in  the  boat  to  question  her.  They 
suspected  that  she  came  to  the  water  foot  to 
meet  her  husband,"  whispered  Anna.  :  You 
must  take  the  little  one  back  to  her  folk — or 
else,  if  you  are  afraid  to  venture,  Hob  or  David 
will  go  instead  of  you." 

"  Neither  Hob  nor  yet  David  shall  get  the 
chance;  I  will  go  myself,"  cried  I,  firing  at  the 
notion  that  my  two  brothers  could  carry  out 
such  a  commission  better  than  I.  '  If  you, 
Anna,  will  look  to  the  sheep,  I  will  leave  Ashie 
and  Gray  behind  to  help  you." 

"  I  will  indeed  gladly  stay  and  see  that  all 
is  kept  in  due  order,"  said  Anna,  and  I  knew 
that  she  was  as  good  a  herd  as  any  one,  and  that 
when  she  undertook  a  thing  she  would  surely 
perform  it. 


2,6  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

So  I  took  leave  of  my  sister,  and  she  gave 
me  some  pieces  of  barley  bread  and  also  a  few 
savoury  crumblings  she  had  discovered  in  the 
pocket  which  was  swung  on  the  outside  of  her 
short  kirtle. 

"  I  will  not  go  with  you;  I  want  to  stay 
with  this  nice  great  girl,  or  else  go  home  to 
my  mother!"  cried  the  imperious  little  maid, 
stamping  her  foot  and  shaking  her  yellow  curls 
vehemently  as  if  she  cherished  a  spite  against 
me. 

'  Your  mother  has  been  obliged  to  go  home 
without  you,"  I  said,  "  but  she  has  left  word 
that  you  are  to  come  with  me,  and  I  will  take 
you  home." 

"  I  do  not  believe  it;  you  are  nothing  but  a 
little,  ragged,  silly  boy,"  she  answered,  shaking 
her  finger  contemptuously  at  me. 

I  appealed  to  Anna. 

"  Is  it  not  so?  "  I  said. 

Anna  turned  gently  to  little  Mary  Gordon. 
'Go  with  him,  childie,"  she  said;  "your 
mother  was  compelled  to  go  away  and  leave 
you.  My  brother  will  bring  you  safe.  Quin- 
tin  is  a  good  lad  and  will  take  great  care  of  you. 
Let  him  take  you  home,  will  you  not?  " 

And  the  child  looked  long  up  into  the  deep, 


MY   SISTER   ANNA. 


37 


untroubled  brown  eyes  of  Anna,  my  sister,  and 
was  vanquished. 

"  I  will  go  with  the  boy  anywhere  if  you  bid 
me,"  she  said. 

(Note  and  Addition  by  me,  Hob  MacClel- 
lan,  Elder  Brother  of  the  Writer.) 

It  chances  that  I,  Hob  MacClellan,  have 
come  into  possession  of  the  papers  of  Quintin, 
my  brother,  and  also  of  many  interesting  docu- 
ments that  belonged  to  him.  In  time  I  shall 
leave  them  to  his  son  Quintin,  but  ere  they  pass 
out  of  my  hands  it  is  laid  upon  me  that  I  insert 
sundry  observes  upon  them  for  the  better  under- 
standing of  what  Quintin  hath  written. 

For  this  brother  of  mine,  whom  for  love  I 
served  forty  years  as  a  thirled  labourer  serves 
for  his  meat,  whom  I  kept  from  a  thousand 
dangers,  whom  I  guided  as  a  mother  doth  a 
bairn  that  learns  to  walk,  holding  it  by  the 
coaties  behind — this  Quintin  whose  fame  is  in 
all  Scotland  was  a  man  too  wrapt  and  godly  to 
be  well  able  to  take  care  of  the  things  of  the 
moment,  and  all  his  life  needed  one  to  be  in 
tendance  upon  him,  and  to  see  that  all  went 
forward  as  it  ought. 

My  mother  and  his,  a  shrewd  woman  of  the 


38  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

borderside  stock,  Elliot  her  name,  used  often  to 
say,  "  Hob,  keep  a  firm  catch  o'  Ouintin.  For 
though  he  may  stir  up  the  world  and  have  the 
care  of  all  the  churches,  yet  like  a  bairn  he  needs 
one  to  draw  tight  the  buckle  of  his  trews,  and 
see  that  he  goes  not  to  preach  in  the  habit  in 
which  he  rose  from  bed!  " 

So  it  came  about  that  I,  having  no  clearness 
as  to  leaving  him  to  himself,  abode  mostly  near 
him,  keeping  the  door  of  his  chamber,  as  it  were, 
on  all  the  great  occasions  of  his  life.  And  Quin- 
tin  my  brother,  though  we  differed  ofttimes,ever 
paid  me  in  love  and  the  bond  of  an  unbroken 
brotherhood.  Also  what  he  had  I  had,  hand 
and  siller,  bite  or  sup,  poverty  and  riches.  I 
tilled  his  glebe.  I  brought  home  his  kye  and 
milked  them.  I  stood  at  his  back  in  the  day  of 
calamity.  I  was  his  groom  when  first  he  mar- 
ried so  strangely.  Yet  through  all  I  abode 
plain  dour  Hob  MacClellan,  to  all  the  parish 
and  wider  far — the  "  minister's  brother!  " 

And  there  are  folk  who  have  held  me  stupid 
because  that  ordinarily  I  found  little  to  say,  or 
dull  in  that  I  mixed  not  with  their  pothouse 
jollity,  or  proud  because  I  could  be  better  com- 
pany to  myself  than  a  score  of  clattering  fools. 

Not  that  I  despised  the  friendly  converse  in 


MY   SISTER   ANNA.  39 

the  green  loaning  when  a  man  meets  a  man,  or 
a  man  a  bonny  lass,  nor  yet  the  merry  meeting 
about  the  ingle  in  the  heartsome  forenights,  for 
I  own  that  at  one  time  my  mind  lay  greatly  that 
way. 

I  have  loved  good  sound  jocund  mirth  all 
my  days;  aye,  and  often  learned  that  which 
proved  of  great  advantage  at  such  times,  just 
because  folk  had  no  fear,  but  would  speak  freely 
before  me.  Whereas,  so  soon  as  Quintin  came 
in,  there  passed  a  hush  over  every  face  and  a 
silence  of  constraint  fell  upon  them,  as  if  he  had 
fetched  the  two  tables  of  stone  with  all  the  Ten 
Commandments  upon  them  in  his  coat-tail 
pocket. 

Now,  though  I  hold  to  it  that  there  never 
was  a  man  in  the  world  like  our  Quintin,  at 
least,  never  since  Richard  Cameron  was  put 
down  in  red-running  blood  on  the  Moss  of  Ayr, 
yet  I  am  free  to  admit  that  Quintin  often  saw 
things  without  that  saving  salt  of  humour  which 
would  have  given  him  so  much  easier  a  tramp 
through  the  whins  and  thickets  of  life. 

But  this  could  not  be.  Quintin  had  by 
nature  mother-wit  enough,  but  he  ever  took 
things  too  hardly,  and  let  them  press  upon  his 
spirit  when  he  had  better  have  been  on  the  ice 


40 


THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 


at  the  channel-stanes  than  on  his  knees  in  his 
closet.     At  least  that  is  my  thought  of  it. 

For  some  men  see  the  upper  side  of  human 
affairs,  and  some  the  under.  But  few  there  be 
who  see  both  sides  of  things.  And  if  any  of  the 
doctrines  for  which  our  Ouintin  fought  seemed 
to  me  as  the  thin  wind-clouds  streaked  like 
mare's  tails  high  in  the  lift,  the  heartsome  mirth 
and  country  gif-gaf*  which  ofttimes  made  my 
heart  cheerier,  appeared  to  him  but  as  the  crack- 
ling of  thorns  under  a  pot. 

And  so  when  it  shall  be  that  this  wondrous 
narrative  of  my  brother  Quintin's  life  (for  it 
is  both  wondrous  and  true)  is  finally  set  forth 
for  the  edification  of  men  and  women,  I  recom- 
mend whoever  has  the  perusal  of  it  to  read 
over  also  my  few  chapters  of  observes,  that  he 
may  understand  the  true  inwardness  of  the 
narrative  and,  as  it  were,  the  ingates  as  well 
as  the  outgates  of  it. 

Now,  for  instance,  there  is  this  matter  of  the 
killing  of  the  man  upon  the  hill.  Quintin  hath 
written  all  his  story,  yet  never  said  in  three 
words  that  the  man  was  not  Muckle  Sandy  Gor- 


*  Gif-gaf,  *".  e.,  give  and  take,  the  interchange  of  pleasantry, 
parry  of  wit,  the  cut-and-thrust  encounter  of  tongues,  innocent 
enough  but  often  rough. 


MY   SISTER   ANNA.  4I 

don,  the  father  of  the  little  lass.  He  was,  in 
fact,  the  son  of  one  Edgar  of  Milnthird,  and 
reported  a  clever  lad  at  his  trade,  which  was 
that  of  a  saddler  in  Dumfries.  He  had  in  his 
time  great  fights  with  the  devil,  who  beset  him 
roaring  like  a  lion  in  the  caves  of  Crichope  and 
other  wild  glens.  But  this  John  Edgar  would 
always  vanquish  him  till  he  put  on  the  red  coat 
of  Rob  Grier  of  Lag,  that  noted  persecutor. 
And  so  the  poor  lad  got  a  settling  shot  through 
the  back  even  as  Quintin  has  written. 

And,  again,  when  Quintin  says  that  it  was 
the  memory  of  that  day  which  set  him  march- 
ing to  Edinburgh  with  me  at  his  elbow,  to  hold 
Clavers  and  his  troop  of  Lairds  and  Highland- 
men  in  order — well,  in  my  opinion  we  both 
marched  to  Edinburgh  because  my  father  bade 
us.  And  at  that  time  even  Quintin  did  not 
disobey  his  father,  though  I  will  say  that,  hav- 
ing the  soft  side  of  my  mother,  he  got  more  of 
his  own  way  even  from  a  bairn  than  is  good  for 
any  one. 


CHAPTER   V. 

I    CONSTRUCT    A    RAFT. 

[The  Narrative  is  again  from  the  MS.  of  Quintin 

MacClellan.] 

It  was  growing  dusk  when  Mary  Gordon  and 
I  came  to  the  edge  of  the  lake.  Now,  Loch 
Ken,  though  a  narrow  and  winding  piece  of 
water,  and  more  the  extension  of  the  river  than, 
as  it  were,  a  lake  of  set  intent,  has  yet  many 
broad,  still  stretches  and  unexpected  inlets, 
where  it  is  a  paradise  for  children  to  play.  And 
these  I  knew  like  the  way  to  our  well  at  Ardar- 
roch. 

As  Anna  had  foretold,  we  found  upon  the 

white  sands  neither  the  Lady  of  Earlstoun,  nor 

yet  the  boat  in  which  Mary  and  she  had  come 

from  the  head  of  the  loch.     We  saw,  however, 

the  rut  which  the  prow  of  the  boat  had  made 

in  taking  the  pebbles,  and  the  large  stone  to 

which  it   had  been  fastened  was  there.      The 
42 


I   CONSTRUCT   A   RAFT.  43 

shingle  also  was  displaced,  and  all  about  were 
deeply  marked  footprints  like  those  made  by- 
men  who  bear  a  heavy  burden. 

Then,  when  I  had  sat  down  on  a  boulder  by 
the  water's  edge,  I  drew  the  little  maid  to  my 
knee,  and  told  her  that  I  must  take  her  home 
to  find  her  mother.  And  also  that  because 
the  Earlstoun  was  a  long  way  off,  she  must 
let  me  carry  her  sometimes  when  she  grew 
weary. 

'Is  that  what  Anna  would  wish?'1  she 
asked,  for  from  the  first  she  had  called  my  sister 
nothing  else. 

I  told  her  that  it  was,  and  immediately  she 
put  her  hand  in  mine,  yet  not  willingly  nor  yet 
trustingly  as  she  had  done  to  Anna,  but  rather 
with  an  air  of  protest  and  like  one  who  does  an 
irksome  but  necessary  duty. 

At  the  point  of  the  loch  at  which  we  had 
arrived  the  trees  crept  down  the  hillside  quite  to 
the  edge  of  the  water,  so  that  for  the  first  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  Mary  Gordon  and  I  proceeded 
nothwards  without  ever  needing  to  show  our- 
selves out  in  the  open. 

Then  there  comes  the  narrow  pass  between 
the  steepest  crags  of  the  Bennan  and  the  water's 
edge.    We  had  been  moving  cautiously  through 


44 


THE   STANDARD  BEARER. 


the  trees,  and  were  indeed  just  about  to  emerge 
from  the  brushwood,  when  a  rotten  stick 
cracked  beneath  my  foot.  Instantly  a  soldier's 
challenge  rang  sharply  out  in  front  of  us. 

"Halt!     Who  goes  there?" 

Though  little  better  than  bairns  Mary  Gor- 
don and  I  cowered  with  the  instinctive  craft 
born  of  years  of  persecution  and  concealment. 
Again  the  man  cried,  "  Show  yourselves  there, 
or  I  fire!" 

But  as  we  lay  still  as  death  behind  the  tree 
he  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  enter  the  wood 
— where,  indeed,  for  all  he  knew  a  score  of 
armed  and  desperate  Whigs  might  have  been  in 
hiding. 

Then  we  could  hear  his  neighbours  hail  him 
from  the  next  post  and  ask  what  the  matter 
was. 

"  I  heard  a  noise  in  the  wood,"  he  returned, 
gruffly  enough. 

"  A  wandering  pig  or  a  goat  from  the  hill!  " 
cried  his  comrade  higher  up,  cheerily.  '  There 
are  many  of  them  about."  But  the  man  in 
front  of  us  was  sullen  and  did  not  reply. 

"  Sulky  dog! ':  cried  the  man  who  had 
spoken — as  it  were,  in  order  to  close  the  con- 
versation pleasantly. 


I    CONSTRUCT   A   RAFT.  45 

The  sound  of  his  voice  caused  me  to  stop 
and  reflect. 

The  hail  of  the  second  soldier  had  come  dis- 
tinctly from  the  rocks  of  the  Bennan,  therefore 
their  commander  had  established  a  cordon  of 
sentries  in  order  to  prevent  the  escape  of  some 
noted  fugitive.  What  chance  was  there  for  a 
couple  of  children  to  pass  the  guarded  line? 
By  myself  I  might,  indeed,  have  managed.  I 
could  well  enough  have  rushed  across  the  line 
when  the  sentry  was  at  the  extreme  point  of  his 
beat,  and  risked  a  bullet  as  I  plunged  into  the 
next  belt  of  woodland;  but,  cumbered  with  the 
care  of  a  maiden  of  tender  years,  this  was  im- 
possible. 

The  night  had  drawn  down  into  a  cool, 
pleasant  darkness.  Softly  Mary  Gordon  and  I 
withdrew,  taking  care  that  no  more  rotten 
sticks  should  snap  beneath  our  feet.  For  I 
knew  that  in  the  present  state  of  the  sentry's 
temper  we  would  certainly  not  escape  so  easily. 

Presently,  at  the  southern  verge  of  the  strag- 
gling copse  of  hazel,  and  therefore  close  to  the 
edge  of  the  lake,  we  came  upon  a  couple  of 
sheepfolds.  One  of  these  belonged  to  our  own 
farm  of  Ardarroch,  and  the  other  to  our  kindly 
neighbour,  John  Fullerton  of  the  Bennan. 


46  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

'  I  am  tired — take  me  home.  You  prom- 
ised to  take  me  home!  " 

The  little  maid's  voice  was  full  of  pitiful- 
ness  and  tears  as  she  found  herself  going  further 
and  further  from  the  house  of  Earlstoun. 

'  We  cannot  pass  that  way — the  soldier  men 
would  shoot  us,"  I  answered  her  with  truth. 

'  Then  take  me  to  my  Auntie  Jean,"  she 
persisted,  catching  at  my  hand  pettishly,  and 
then  throwing  it  from  her,  "  and  my  mother  will 
come  for  me  in  the  morning." 

"  But  where  does  your  Auntie  Jean  live?  " 

'  How  can  I  tell — it  is  such  a  long  way?  ': 
she  answered.  "  It  is  in  a  house  in  the  middle 
of  a  loch!" 

Now  this  could  only  mean  in  the  old  tower 
of  Lochinvar.  But  that  was  a  yet  longer  and 
more  difficult  road  than  to  the  Earlstoun,  and 
the  line  of  sentries  up  the  Bennan  side  barred 
our  progress  as  completely  as  ever. 

Nevertheless  there  was  something  attract- 
ive in  the  little  maid's  idea.  For  that  ancient 
strength,  alone  among  all  the  neighbouring 
houses,  sheltered  no  band  of  troopers.  Ken- 
mure,  Earlstoun,  Gordonston,  and  even  our  own 
little  farm  town  of  Ardarroch  were  all  manned 
and  watched,  but  the  half-ruinous  block-house 


I   CONSTRUCT   A   RAFT. 


47 


of  Lochinvar  set  in  the  midst  of  its  moorland 
loch  had  been  left  untenanted.  Its  owner,  Wal- 
ter Gordon,  the  famous  swordsman,  was  in  exile 
abroad,  so  they  said,  and  the  place,  save  for  a 
room  or  two,  totally  disrupted  and  broken 
down. 

There  was,  therefore,  no  safer  refuge  for 
little  Mary,  if  indeed  her  aunt  dwelt  there  and 
we  could  find  our  way.  Suddenly,  as  we  looked 
about,  an  idea  came  to  me,  and,  what  is  not  so 
common,  the  means  of  carrying  it  out. 

The  sheepfolds  (or  "  buchts  ")  in  which  we 
were  hiding  were  walled  in  with  rough  stones 
from  the  hill,  piled  so  as  to  form  dry  dykes,  high 
and  strong,  and  the  entrances  were  defended  by 
heavy  wooden  gates  swung  upon  posts  driven 
deep  into  the  ground.  The  gates  lifted  away 
easily  from  their  hinges.  Two  or  three  of  these 
would  make  a  secure  enough  raft  if  I  could  only 
fasten  them  together.  And  even  as  I  set  about 
to  find  ways  and  means,  I  was  conscious  of  a 
change.  A  strange  elation  took  me  at  the  heart, 
and  ran  through  my  veins  like  unaccustomed 
wine. 

I  was  no  longer  the  careless  herd  laddie. 
I  had  entered  life.  I  knew  the  penalty  of  fail- 
ure.    The  man  in  the  brown  coat  lying  prone 


48  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

on  his  face  up  there  above  me  on  the  crest  of 
the  Bennan  quite  clearly  and  sufficiently  pointed 
that  moral. 

So,  with  the  little  girl  close  behind  me,  I 
searched  both  sets  of  "  buchts  "  from  end  to 
end.  I  found  three  gates  which  could  be  easily 
detached  from  their  posts.  These  I  dismounted 
one  after  another. 

How,  then,  was  I  to  get  them  to  the  water's 
edge,  for  they  were  far  too  heavy  for  my  puny 
strength?  I  could  only  break  a  limb  from  a 
tree  and  draw  them  down  to  the  loch  shore  on 
that,  even  as  I  had  often  helped  my  father  to 
bring  home  his  faggots  of  firewood  from  the  hill 
upon  a  carr,  or  trail-cart  of  brushwood. 

So  we  set  off  for  the  wood  to  break  our 
branch.  It  was  not  long  before  I  had  one  of 
beech  lying  upon  the  ground,  with  all  its  wealth 
of  rustling  leaves  upon  it.  But  the  snap  I  made 
in  breaking  it  off  from  the  tree  would  certainly 
have  betrayed  us,  had  I  not  been  cautious  to 
keep  a  sufficient  breadth  of  wood  between  us 
and  our  surly  sentry. 

Trailing  this  behind  us  we  came  again  to  the 
"  ewe-buchts." 

It  was  now  no  difficult  job  to  transport  the 
raft  of  gates  down  to  the  water.     I  gave  Mary 


I   CONSTRUCT   A   RAFT. 


49 


Gordon  a  branch  to  tug  at,  which  made  her 
happier  than  anything  I  had  done  since  Anna 
committed  her  to  my  care,  for  she  pleased  her- 
self with  thinking  that  she  did  the  whole 
work. 

I  was  almost  on  the  point  of  using  a  hay- 
rope  to  bind  them  together  as  the  best  I  could 
do,  when  I  remembered  that  in  the  corner  of 
our  own  "  buchts  "  my  father  kept  some  well- 
tarred  hempen  cord,  which  I  had  seen  him  place 
there  only  the  day  before  he  had  been  compelled 
to  go  into  hiding.  If  it  chanced  not  to  be  re- 
moved, without  doubt  it  would  prove  the  very 
thing. 

I  found  it  where  he  had  laid  it,  in  the  little 
shelf-press  rudely  constructed  in  the  wall  of 
four  blocks  of  stone  split  into  faces.  There 
was  little  enough  of  it  when  I  rove  it  out, 
but  I  thought  I  could  make  shift  with  it. 
It  was,  at  any  rate,  far  beter  than  miles  of  hay- 
rope. 

With  this  I  tied  the  bars  closely  together  by 
the  corners  and  cross-bars,  and  presently  had 
built  up  a  very  commodious  raft  indeed,  though 
one  more  than  a  trifle  heavy.  It  was  some  time 
before  I  hit  upon  a  plan  of  launching  my  top- 
heavy  craft.     With  the  loose  "stob  "  of  a  gate- 


50  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

post  I  managed  to  lever  the  crank  construc- 
tion to  the  edge  of  a  sloping  bank  down 
which  she  slid  so  quickly  that  I  had  to  set  my 
heels  into  the  grass  and  hold  back  with  all  my 
might. 

But  a  moment  after,  without  a  splash  more 
than  a  wild  duck  might  make,  the  raft  floated 
high  above  the  water.  With  the  end  of  the  rope 
in  my  hand  I  climbed  on  board,  but  soon  found 
that  with  my  weight  the  top  "  liggate  "  of  my 
craft  was  within  an  inch  of  the  water.  Clearly, 
then,  it  could  not  keep  both  of  us  dry. 

But  this  troubled  me  little.  I  had  not  lived 
all  my  life  on  the  shores  of  a  loch  to  be  afraid 
of  swimming  behind  a  raft  on  a  midsummer 
night.  For  among  other  ploys  Hob  and  I 
would  often  play  at  a  sort  of  tilting  or  tourna- 
ment, sitting  astride  of  logs  and  trying  to  knock 
each  other  off  into  the  water  in  the  warm  sum- 
mer shallows. 

So  I  placed  the  little  girl  upon  the  raft,  cau- 
tioning her  that  as  she  hoped  to  see  her  mother 
again,  she  must  in  no  circumstances  make  the 
least  noise  nor  yet  move  from  the  centre  of  the 
raft  where  I  had  placed  her.  Soon  she  had  be- 
gun to  take  an  interest  in  the  adventure,  and 
had  forgotten  her  weariness.     She  did  not,  how- 


I   CONSTRUCT   A   RAFT. 


51 


ever,  again  speak  of  her  mother,  but  said  that 
she  was  ready  to  "  go  for  a  sail  "  with  me  if  I 
was  quite  sure  that  on  the  other  side  she  should 
see  her  aunt.  And  this,  speaking  somewhat 
hastily,  I  promised  without  condition.' 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ACROSS    THE    MOONLIGHT. 

For  just  then  I  became  aware  of  a  quickly 
growing  light  behind  the  eastern  hills.  It  was 
the  moon  rising.  I  had  not  thought  of  this, 
and  for  a  moment  I  was  disconcerted.  I  knew 
that  she  would  doubtless  throw  a  sharp  light 
upon  the  water,  and  that  from  the  shore  the  raft 
would  be  as  easily  seen  black  against  the  broad 
and  shining  silver  streak  as  if  the  time  had  been 
midday  instead  of  midnight. 

Then  I  remembered  the  branch  which  I  had 
brought  with  me  from  the  wood.  I  thrust  the 
butt  of  it  through  the  bars  of  the  gates,  and  so 
disposed  the  leaves  that  from  the  shore  they 
made  at  once  a  perfect  shelter  and  a  secure  hid- 
ing-place for  Mary,  who  sat  there  in  state  upon 
the  raft,  proud  of  going  such  an  adventurous 
voyage,  and  perhaps  also  not  a  little  elated  to  be 
up  so  late. 

Being  already  stripped  to  the  shirt  and  small 
52 


ACROSS   THE    MOONLIGHT. 


53 


clothes,  I  took  off  the  former  also,  and  dropped 
silently  into  the  water  behind  the  raft.  I  found 
the  water  warm,  for  the  hot  sun  of  June  had 
beat  upon  it  all  the  long  day.  A  chill  wind  had 
sprung  up  within  the  last  hour,  and  the  wave- 
lets broke  on  my  back  and  upon  the  raft  at  my 
chin  with  a  little  jabble  of  sound.  But  it  blew 
upon  the  leaves  of  the  branch  which  acted  as  a 
sail  and  sent  us  so  quickly  northward  that  I  had 
to  swim  sideways  in  order  to  keep  in  the  right 
line  of  our  voyaging. 

The  moon  rose  as  we  left  the  shallows  of 
the  shore.  She  looked  coldly  and  blankly  at 
us  over  the  black  Parton  moors  on  the  other 
side.  But  all  the  same  she  did  us  a  mighty  ill 
turn.  For  I  knew  that  in  her  light  the  raft 
would  be  apparent  to  every  one  on  the  bank 
where  the  soldiers  lay. 

I  dived  instantly  and  came  up  on  the  side 
furthest  from  the  land.  There  I  held  the  raft 
so  that  the  branch  would  keep  its  thickest  cover 
towards  the  sentry. 

I  could  see  him  now,  pacing  to  and  fro  in 
the  moonlight  across  the  grey  turf  and  strip 
of  white  sand.  He  was  plain  to  be  seen  against 
the  shining  beach,  and  his  helmet  sometimes 
flashed   momentarily  against   the   dark   line   of 


54 


THE    STANDARD   BEARER. 


the  woods  behind.  So  that  I  knew  how  plainly 
he  in  his  turn  must  be  able  to  see  us,  as  we 
crossed  the  broad  silver  stream  of  moonlight 
upon  the  water. 

A  camp  fire  glowed  sullenly  red  among  the 
trees,  from  which  I  gathered  that  the  com- 
mander of  the  soldiers  was  very  much  in  earnest 
indeed,  in  his  resolve  to  catch  his  man.  For  it 
was  but  seldom  that  any  of  the  red  soldiers 
would  consent  to  lie  out  at  night,  preferring 
instead  to  quarter  themselves  upon  the  people, 
to  harry  their  houses  and  gear,  insult  their 
women  folk,  and  requiring  to  be  called  "  your 
Honour  "  at  every  other  word. 

Meanwhile,  the  wind  was  doing  its  work, 
if  not  swiftly,  at  least  with  deliberate  and  un- 
halting  steadiness.  Mary  sat  like  a  statue  un- 
der the  green  bough,  and  smiled  at  the  dancing 
ripples.  She  looked  very  beautiful  to  see,  aye, 
and  winsome  too,  with  my  shirt-collar  turned 
up  about  her  ears  and  the  empty  sleeves  hang- 
ing down  on  either  side. 

But  I  had  small  time  to  observe  such  like, 
for  soon  we  were  crossing  the  bright  water  in 
front  of  the  soldier. 

He  had  paced  down  to  the  water's  edge  and 
now  stood  looking  out  towards  us,  leaning  upon 


ACROSS   THE    MOONLIGHT.  55 

his  musket.  I  could  see  the  tails  of  his  military 
coat  blow  back  in  the  chill  wind  from  the  hills. 
He  hugged  himself  as  if  he  had  been  a-cold. 
Yet  he  stood  looking  so  long  that  I  feared 
he  might  suspect  something.  But  after  all  it 
was  only  that  he  was  a  contemplative  man,  and 
that  the  object  on  the  water  was  as  good  as  any- 
thing else  to  fix  his  eyes  upon.  At  any  rate,  all 
he  did  see  was  a  floating  branch  being  driven 
northward  with  the  wind. 

Presently,  to  my  immense  relief,  he  shoul- 
dered his  piece  and  tramped  away  up  towards 
the  woods. 

I  drew  a  long  breath,  and  swimming  on  my 
back  I  pushed  the  raft  across  the  lake  with  my 
head. 

Yet  it  seemed  an  age  before  we  took  ground 
on  the  further  side,  and  I  could  carry  the  brave 
little  maid  ashore.  She  dropped  almost  in- 
stantly asleep  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Have  you  given  Matt  his  supper?  ':'  was 
her  last  speech.  I  thought  Matt  must  be  some 
pet  dog  of  her's.  In  time,  however,  I  found 
that  he  was  a  certain  green  caterpillar  which 
she  kept  in  a  wooden  box  and  fed  upon  cabbage 
leaves. 

After  this  there  came  a  long  and  weary  tramp 
5 


56  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

with  many  rests,  and  the  infinite  weariness  of 
carrying  the  sleeping  maid.  She  grew  heavier 
and  heavier  every  moment  as  I  stumbled  over 
the  rough  moor,  so  that  my  back  was  well  nigh 
broken  before  I  came  to  the  verge  of  the  little 
lake  with  the  tower  of  Lochinvar  in  the  midst 
of  it. 

Here,  in  the  dawning  light,  I  laid  her  down 
under  a  bush  of  bog-myrtle,  and  swimming  to 
the  castle  hand  over  hand  I  clamoured  at  the 
door. 

For  a  time  none  answered,  and  I  got  a  sharp, 
chilling  fear  in  my  stomach  that  I  had  brought 
the  maid  to  a  house  uninhabited,  but  at  long 
and  last  a  window  shot  up  and  a  voice 
hailed  me. 

"  Who  knocks  so  early  at  the  door  of  Loch- 
invar? 

"Who  are  you  that  speers?"  I  returned,  giv- 
ing question  for  question  in  the  Scots  manner. 

A  kindly  mellow  voice  laughed. 

"  Surely  only  an  honest  country  lad  would 
have  answered  thus,"  said  the  voice;  "  but  since 
the  times  are  evil,  tell  me  who's  bairn  ye  may 
be?" 

So  with  that,  somewhat  reassured,  I  told 
very  briefly  for  what  cause  I  had  come. 


ACROSS   THE    MOONLIGHT. 


57 


The  window  shut  down  again,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  I  heard  a  foot  within  coming  slowly 
along  a  stone  passage.  Bolts  withdrew,  and 
the  door  was  opened,  creaking  and  squealing 
upon  unaccustomed  hinges. 

A  pleasant-faced  old  lady,  wrapped  about  in 
a  travelling  cloak  of  blue  frieze,  stood  there. 
She  had  a  white  nightcap  on  her  head,  frilled 
and  goffered  much  more  elaborately  than  my 
mother's  at  Ardarroch. 

"  Ye  have  brought  Sandy  Gordon's  daugh- 
ter to  me.  Her  faither  and  her  mother  are 
taken,  ye  tell  me.  God  help  them!"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

So  I  told  her  that  I  knew  not  as  to  her 
father's  taking  with  any  certainty,  for  he  might 
have  been  slain  for  aught  I  knew.  I  told  her 
also  the  terrible  thing  I  had  been  witness  to  on 
the  top  of  Bennan,  and  the  word  of  the  lad  in 
brown  when  he  cried  for  Margaret.  She  set  her 
hand  to  her  heart. 

"  Poor  lads,"  she  said,  and  again,  "  poor  mis- 
guided lads!  " 

I  thought  in  my  heart  that  that  was  a 
strange  way  to  speak  of  the  martyrs,  but  it  was 
not  for  a  boy  like  me  to  make  any  objection. 

The  woman  undid  the  boat  which  swung  by 


53 


THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 


a  chain  at  the  northern  side  of  the  castle  secure 
within  a  litle  breakwater  of  hewn  stone.  We 
rowed  across  to  the  loch's  edge,  and  there,  in 
the  first  ruddy  glow  of  the  rising  sun,  with  col- 
our on  her  lips  and  her  lashes  lying  long  and 
dark  upon  her  cheek,  was  the  little  Mistress 
Mary,  safe  under  her  bush  of  bog-myrtle,  look- 
ing lovely  as  a  fairy,  aye,  or  the  queen  of  the 
fairies  herself. 

Then  I  know  not  what  cantrip  took  me,  for 
at  most  times,  both  then  and  after,  I  was  an 
awkward  Scots  boy,  as  rough  and  landward  as 
Ashie  or  Gray,  my  questing  collies.  But  cer- 
tain it  is  that  I  stooped  and  kissed  her  on  the 
cheek  as  she  lay,  and  when  I  lifted  her  would 
have  given  her  to  her  aunt. 

But  she  stirred  a  little  as  I  took  her  in  my 
arms,  and  with  a  little  petulant  whimper  she 
nestled  her  head  deeper  into  my  neck.  My 
heart  stirred  strangely  within  me  at  the  touch 
of  the  light  curls  on  her  forehead. 

She  opened  her  eyes  of  sleepy  blue.  '  Has 
Matt  had  his  breakfast?  ':  she  said.  And  in- 
stantly fell  to  the  sleeping  again. 

We  laid  her  all  comfortably  in  the  stern  of 
the  boat.  Her  aunt  stepped  in  and  took  the 
oars.     She  did  not  invite  me  to  follow. 


ACROSS   THE    MOONLIGHT. 


59 


"  Good  morrow,  lad,"  she  said,  not  unkindly, 
"  Se^  you  home  speedily.  I  will  see  to  the  child. 
You  have  done  well  by  Sandy's  bairn.  Come 
and  see  her  and  me  in  happier  times.  I  promise 
you  neither  she  nor  I  will  ever  forget  it." 

And  I  watched  these  two  as  the  boat  went 
from  me,  leaving  three  long  wakes  upon  the 
water,  one  oily  and  broad  where  the  keel  stirred 
the  peaty  water,  and  two  smaller  on  either  side 
winking  with  bubbles  where  the  oars  had  dipped. 

And  there  in  the  stern  I  could  just  see  the 
edge  of  the  blue  hood  of  frieze,  wherein  lay  the 
golden  head  of  Mary  Gordon. 

She  was  but  a  bairn.  What  did  a  grown 
laddie  care  for  bairns?  Yet  was  my  heart  heavy 
within  me. 

And  that  was  the  last  I  saw  of  Mary  Gordon 
for  many  and  many  a  year. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

MY    BROTHER    HOB. 

The  years  which  took  me,  Ouintin  Mac- 
Clellan,  from  the  boyishness  of  thirteen  to 
eighteen  and  manhood  were  eventful  ones  for 
Scotland.  The  second  Charles  had  died  just 
when  the  blast  was  strongest,  and  for  a  while 
it  looked  as  if  his  brother  would  be  the  worst  of 
the  two.  But  because  he  wished  well  to  the 
Papists,  and  could  not  ease  them  without  also 
somewhat  benefiting  us  of  the  Covenant,  the 
bitterness  of  the  shower  slacked  and  we  had 
some  peace. 

But,  as  for  me,  it  mattered  not  greatly.  My 
heart  within  me  was  determined  that  which  it 
should  do.  Come  storm  or  peaceful  years,  come 
life  or  death,  I  was  determined  to  stand  in  the 
forefront  and  hold  up  again  the  banner  which 
had  been  dabbled  in  the  blood  of  Richard  Cam- 
eron at  Ayrsmoss,  and  trailed  in  the  dust  of  vic- 
tory by  the  haughty  and  the  cruel. 
60 


MY   BROTHER   HOB.  6l 

That  very  year  I  went  to  my  father,  and  I 
asked  of  him  a  wage  to  be  spent  in  buying  me 
books  for  my  learning. 

"  You  want  to  be  a  minister? ,:  said  my 
father,  looking,  as  he  well  might,  no  little  aston- 
ished. "  Have  you  gotten  the  grace  of  God  in 
your  heart?  " 

"  Nay,  father,"  I  answered  him,  "  that  I 
know  not.  But  nevertheless  I  have  a  desire  to 
know  and  to  learn " 


But  another  voice  cut  into  the  matter  and 
gravity  of  our  discourse. 

'  Bless  the  lad,  and  so  you  shall,  Quintin!  " 
cried  my  mother  from  the  door. 

I  heard  my  father  sigh  as  though  he  would 
have  said,  "The  fat  is  in  the  fire  now!':  Yet 
he  refrained  him  and  said  nothing,  standing 
as  was  his  custom  with  his  hands  deep  in  the 
long  side  flaps  of  his  waistcoat.  Then  he 
showed  how  hard  it  was  to  become  a  minister, 
and  ever  my  mother  countered  his  objections, 
telling  how  such-an-one's  son  had  gone  forward 
and  been  successful. 

"  And  they  had  none  such  a  comfortable 
down-sitting  nor  yet  any  such  blessing  in 
flocks  and  herds  as  you,  goodman!  "  she  would 
say. 


62  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

"  Nor  yet  a  mother  so  set  and  determined  in 
her  own  way!  "  cried  my  father  a  little  sharply. 

'  Nay,  now,  John,"  she  made  answer;  "  I 
did  but  mention  those  other  lads,  because  not 
one  of  them  is  to  be  compared  with  our  Quin- 
tinl" 

My  father  laughed  a  little. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  at  all  events  there  is  time 
enough.  The  lad  is  but  fourteen,  and  muckle 
much  good  water  will  run  under  the*'  brigs  ere 
it  be  time  to  send  him  to  the  college.  But  I 
will  speak  to  Gilbert  Semple,  the  Edinburgh 
carrier,  to  ask  his  cousin,  the  goodly  minister, 
what  books  are  best  fitted  for  a  lad  who  desires 
to  seek  learning  and  college  breeding.  And  in 
the  meantime  the  laddie  has  aye  his  Bible.  I 
mind  what  good  Master  Rutherford  said  when 
he  was  in  Anwoth:  '  If  so  be  ye  want  manners 
e'en  read  the  Bible.  For  the  Bible  is  no  ill-bred 
book.  It  will  take  you  unashamed  through  an 
earthly  court  as  well  as  through  the  courts  of 
the  Master  of  Assemblies,  through  the  Star 
Chamber  as  well  as  through  the  chamber  of  the 
stars.'  " 

And  though  at  the  time  I  understood  not 
well  then  what  my  father  meant,  yet  I  read  in 
my  Bible  as  I  had  opportunity,  keeping  it  with 


MY    BROTHEB    HOB.  63 

one  or  two  other  books  in  the  poke-nook  of  my 
plaid  whenever  I  went  to  the  hills.  After  a  while 
Gilbert  Semple,  the  carrier,  brought  me  from 
Edinburgh  certain  other  volumes — some  of 
Latin  and  Greek  grammar,  with  one  or  two 
in  the  mathematics  which  were  a  sore  puzzle 
and  heartbreak  to  me,  till  there  came  among 
us  one  of  the  Hill  Folk,  a  well-learned  man, 
who,  being  in  hiding  in  a  Whig's  hole  on  the 
side  of  Cairn  Edward,  was  glad  for  the  passing 
of  the  time  to  teach  me  to  thread  the  stony 
desolation  of  verbs  irregular  and  the  quags  of 
the  rules  of  syntax. 

Nevertheless,  at  this  time,  I  fear  there  was 
in  me  no  very  rooted  or  living  desire  for  the 
ministry.  I  longed,  it  is  true,  for  a  wider  and 
more  ample  career  than  the  sheep-herding  on 
the  hills  of  Kells  could  afford.  And  in  this  my 
mother  supported  me.  Hob  and  David  also, 
though  they  desired  not  the  like  for  themselves, 
yet  took  some  credit  in  a  brother  who  had  it  in 
him  to  struggle  through  the  narrow  and  thorn- 
beset  wicket  gate  of  learning. 

Many  a  time  did  our  great,  stupid,  kindly, 
butter-hearted  Hob  come  to  me,  as  I  lay  prone 
kicking  my  heels  to  some  dyke-back  with  my 
Latin    grammar    under    my    nose,    and    stand 


64  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

looking  over  with  a  kind  of  awe  on  his  honest 
face. 

"  Read  us  a  bit,"  he  would  say. 

Whereat  very  gladly  I  would  screed  him  off 
half  a  page  of  the  rules  of  the  syntax  in  the 
Latin  tongue,  according  to  the  Dutch  pronun- 
ciation which  the  preacher  lad  of  the  Cairn  Ed- 
ward cave  had  taught  me.* 

And  as  I  rolled  the  weighty  and  sounding 
words  glibly  off,  Hob  would  listen  with  an  air  of 
infinite  satisfaction,  like  one  that  rolls  a  sweet 
morsel  under  his  tongue. 

"  Read  that  leaf  again!  It's  a  grand-sound- 
in'  ane  that!  Like  'And  the  Lord  said  unto 
Moses  '  in  the  Book  of  Exodus.  Certes,  what 
it  is  to  have  learning!  " 

Then  very  gravely  I  would  read  to  the  foot 
of  the  page  and  stop. 

Hob  would  stand  a  moment  to  digest  his 
meal  of  the  Humanities. 

"  Lie  ye  there,  laddie,"  he  would  say; 
"  gather  what  lear  ye  can  out  of  your  books.  I 
will  look  to  the  hill  sheep  for  you  this  day!  ' 

I  shall  never  forget  his  delight  when,  after 

*  This  was  really  the  sweet  and  gentle  youth  James  Renwick, 
though  I  knew  not  his  name,  till  I  saw  them  hang  him  in  the 
Grassmarket  of  Edinburgh  in  the  first  year  of  my  college-going. 


MY   BROTHER   HOB. 


65 


great  wrestlings,  I  taught  him  the  proper  cases 
of  Penna,  "  a  pen,"  which  in  time  he  attained 
so  great  a  mastery  over  that  even  in  his  sleep  he 
could  be  heard  muttering,  "Penna,  a  pen; 
pcnnac,  of  a  pen."  And  our  David,  slinking 
sulkily  in  at  a  wolf-lope  from  his  night-raking 
among  the  Glenkens  lasses,  would  sometimes 
bid  him  to  be  silent  in  no  kindly  tones,  at  which 
the  burly  Hob,  who  could  have  broken  slender 
David  over  his  knee,  would  only  grunt  and  turn 
him  over,  recommencing  monotonously  under 
his  breath,  "Penna,  a  pen!  " 

My  father  smiled  at  all  this — but  covertly, 
not  believing,  I  think,  that  there  was  any  out- 
gate  for  me  into  the  ministry.  And  with  the 
state  of  things  in  Scotland,  indeed,  I  myself  saw 
none.  Nevertheless,  I  had  it  in  me  to  try.  And 
if  Mr.  Linning,  Mr.  Boyd,  Mr.  Shields,  Mr.  Ren- 
wick  and  others  had  gotten  their  learning  in 
Holland,  why  should  not  I? 

In  return  for  Penna,  a  pen  (pennae,  of  a  pen, 
et  cetera),  Hob  taught  me  the  use  of  arms,  the 
shooting  to  the  dot  of  an  "  i  "  with  a  gun  and  a 
pistol,  the  broad  sword  and  the  small  sword, 
having  no  mercy  on  me  at  all,  but  abusing  me 
like  a  sheep-stealer  if  I  failed  or  grew  slack  at 
the  practice. 


66  THE    STANDARD   BEARER. 

'  For,"  he  said,  "  if  ever  you  are  to  be  a  right 
minister  in  Scotland,  it  is  as  like  that  ye  will 
need  to  lead  a  charge  with  Richard  Cameron,  as 
that  ye  will  spend  all  your  time  in  the  making  of 
sermons  and  delivering  them." 

So  he  taught  me  also  single-stick  till  I  was 
black  and  blue  all  over.  He  would  keep  on  so 
long  belabouring  me  that  I  could  only  stop  him 
with  some  verbal  quib,  which  as  soon  as  it 
pierced  his  thick  skull  would  make  him  laugh  so 
long  and  so  loudly  that  the  lesson  stopped  of 
itself.  Yet  for  all  that  he  had  in  after  time  the 
mighty  assurance  to  say  that  it  was  I  who  had 
no  true  appreciation  of  humour. 

One  day,  when  he  had  basted  me  most  un- 
mercifully, I  said  to  him,  "  I  also  would  ask  you 
one  thing,  Hob,  and  if  you  tell  me  without  sleep- 
ing on  it,  I  will  give  you  the  silver  buckle  of  my 
belt." 

"  Say  on,"  said  he,  casting  an  eager  eye  at 
the  waist-leather  which  Jean  Gordon  had  sent 
me. 

'  Wherein  have  I  the  advantage  over  the 
leopard?  "  I  asked  him. 

He  thought  it  over  most  profoundly. 

'  I  give  it  up,"  he  said  at  last.  "  I  do  not 
know." 


MY   BROTHER   HOB. 


67 


"  Why,"  said  I,  as  if  it  had  been  the  simplest 
thing,  "  because  when  I  play  back-sword  with 
you  I  can  change  my  spots  and  Scripture  de- 
clares that  the  leopard  cannot." 

This  he  understood  not  at  the  time,  but  the 
next  Sabbath  morning  it  came  upon  him  in  the 
time  of  worship  in  the  kitchen,  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  solemnity  he  laughed  aloud,  whereat  my 
father,  much  incensed,  asked  him  what  ailed 
him  and  if  his  wits  had  suddenly  taken  leave  of 
him. 

"  It  was  our  Ouintin,"  dithered  Hob,  tremu- 
lously  trying  to  command  his  midriff;  "  he  told 
me  that  when  I  played  back-sword  with  him  he 
could  change  his  spots  and  that  the  leopard 
could  not." 

'  When  said  he  that?  "  asked  my  father,  with 
cold  suspicion,  for  I  had  been  sitting  demure  as 
a  gib  cat  at  his  own  elbow. 

'  Last  Monday  in  the  gloaming,  when  we 
were  playing  at  back-sword  in  the  barn,"  said 
Hob. 

:  Thou  great  fool,"  cried  my  father,  "  go  to 
the  hill  breakfastless,  and  come  not  in  till  ye 
have  learned  to  behave  yourself  in  the  time  of 
worship." 

To  which  Hob  responded  nothing,  but  rose 


68  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

and    went    obediently,    smothering    his  belated 
laughter  in  his  broad  bonnet  of  blue. 

He  was  waiting  for  me  after  by  the  sheep- 
buchts,  when  I  went  out  with  a  bicker  of  por- 
ridge under  my  coat. 

'  I  am  sore  vexed  to  have  made  our  father 
angry,"  he  said,  "  but  the  answer  came  upon  me 
suddenly,  and  in  truth  it  was  a  proper  jest — for, 
of  course,  a  leopard  could  not  play  back-sword." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    MUSTER    OF   THE    HILL    FOLK. 

Men  who  know  the  strange  history  of  the 
later  life  of  me,  Quintin  MacClellan,  may  won- 
der that  the  present  narrative  discovers  so  little 
concerning  my  changes  of  opinion  and  stresses 
of  spiritual  conflict.  But  of  these  things  I  have 
written  in  extension  elsewhere,  and  those  who 
desire  more  than  a  personal  narrative  know  well 
where  to  find  the  recital  of  my  difficulties,  cov- 
enantings,  and  combatings  for  the  cause. 

For  myself,  the  memory  of  the  day  on  the 
Bennan  top  was  more  than  enough,  and  made 
me  a  high  Covenant  man  for  life.  So  that  when 
I  heard  how  King  James  was  fled  and  his  son-in- 
law,  William  of  Orange,  landed  I  could  not  con- 
tain myself,  but  bade  Hob  and  David  to  come 
with  me  and  light  a  beacon-fire  on  the  top  of 
the  Millyea,  that  fair  and  shapely  mountain. 
This  after  severe  labour  we  did,  and  they  say 

that  the  light  was  seen  over  a  dozen  parishes. 

69 


JO  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

Then  there  came  word  to  the  Glenkens  that 
there  was  to  be  a  Convention  in  Edinburgh  of 
men  chosen  out  of  every  shire  and  county,  called 
and  presided  over  by  Duke  Hamilton.  But  it 
was  the  bruit  of  the  countryside  that  this  parlia- 
ment would  turn  out  even  as  the  others,  and  be 
ground  under  the  heel  of  the  old  kingsmen  and 
malignants.* 

So  about  this  time  there  came  to  see  my 
father  two  men  grave  and  grey,  their  beards 
blanched  with  dripping  hill-caves  and  with 
sleeping  out  in  the  snell  winds  and  biting  frosts 
of  many  a  winter,  without  better  shelter  than 
some  cold  moss-hag  or  the  bieldy  side  of  a  snow 
wreath. 

'  There  is  to  be  a  great  rising  of  the  Seven 
Thousand.  The  whole  West  is  marching  to 
Edinburgh!  "  cried  in  at  the  door  the  elder  of 
the  two — one  Steel,  a  noted  Covenanter  from 
Lesmahago. 

But  the  other,  when  his  dark  cloak  blew 
back,  showed  a  man  of  slender  figure,  but  with  a 
face  of  calm  resolve  and  indomitable  courage — 
the  proven  face  of  a  soldier.     He  was  in  a  fair 

*  /.  <?.,  those  who  by  the  Covenanters  were  supposed  to  have 
malignantly  pursued  and  opposed  their  cause  in  the  council  or  in 
the  field. 


THE   MUSTER   OF   THE   HILL   FOLK. 


71 


uniform — that,  as  I  afterwards  found,  of  one  of 
the  Prince  of  Orange's  Scots-Dutch  regiments. 

"  This,"  said  Steel  to  my  father,  "  is  Colonel 
William  Gordon,  brother  of  Earlstoun,  who  is 
come  directly  from  the  Prince  of  Orange  to 
represent  his  cause  in  his  own  country  of  the 
West." 

In  a  moment  a  spark  lighted  in  my  heart, 
blazed  up  and  leaped  to  my  tongue. 

"What,"  I  cried,  "William  Gordon— who 
carried  the  banner  at  Sanquhar  and  fought 
shoulder  to  shoulder  with  Cameron  at  Ayrs- 
moss." 

For  it  was  my  mother's  favourite  tale. 

The  slender  man  with  the  calm  soldier-like 
face  smiled  quietly  and  made  me  a  little  bow, 
the  like  of  which  for  grace  I  had  never  seen  in 
our  land.  It  had  so  much  of  foreign  habitude 
in  it,  mixed  with  a  simple  and  personal  kindli- 
ness native  to  the  man. 

"  Ah,"  he  said,  "  I  am  ten  years  older  since 
then — I  fear  me  not  ten  years  wiser." 

His  voice  sounded  clear  and  pleasant,  yet 
it  was  indubitably  the  voice  of  a  man  to  be 
obeyed. 

'  How  many  sons  and  limber  house-carles 
can  you  spare,  Ardarroch,"  said  he,  watching 


72 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


my  father's  face,  "  to  march  with  me  to  keep  the 
Convention  out  of  the  clutches  of  my  Lord 
Dundee?" 

'  Of  the  devil's  hound,  Clavers,  mean  ye?  " 
corrected  my  father  suddenly,  the  fierce,  rooted 
light  of  hatred  gleaming  keen  and  sharp,  like 
the  blade  of  a  dagger  which  is  drawn  just  an 
inch  from  its  sheath  and  then  returned.  "  There 
are  three  of  us  on  the  farm,  besides  the  boy 
Quintin,  my  youngest  son.  And  every  one  of 
them  shall  ride  to  Edinburgh  with  you  on  their 
own  horses." 

"  Four  shall  ride,  father,"  said  I,  stepping 
forward.  "  I  am  the  youngest,  but  let  me  also 
strike  a  blow.  I  am  as  fit  of  my  body  as  either 
Hob  or  David  there,  and  have  a  better  desire 
and  goodwill  than  either  of  them." 

"  But,  lad,"  said  my  father,  not  ill  pleased, 
"  there  are  your  mother  and  sister  to  look  after. 
Bide  you  here  and  take  care  of  the  house." 

"  There  needs  none  to  take  care  of  the  house 
while  ye  leave  us  here  with  a  musket  or  two  and 
plenty  of  powder  and  lead,"  cried  my  mother. 
"  Anna  and  I  shall  be  safer,  aye,  and  the  fuller 
of  gladness  that  ye  are  all  in  Edinburgh  doing 
the  Lord's  work.  Ride  ye,  therefore,  all  the 
four  of  you !  " 


THE    MUSTER   OF   THE    HILL   FOLK.  73 

'  Yes,"  added  Anna,  with  the  sweet  stillness 
of  her  eye  on  the  ground,  "  let  Quintin  go, 
father.  None  would  harm  us  in  all  the  country- 
side." 

'  Indeed,  I  think  so,"  growled  my  father, 
"  having  John  MacClellan  to  reckon  with  on  our 
return." 

Whereat  for  very  thankfulness  I  took  the 
two  women's  hands,  and  Colonel  Gordon  said, 
"  Aye,  Ardarroch,  give  the  lad  his  will.  In  time 
past  I  had  my  share  of  biding  by  the  house 
while  my  elders  rode  to  battle,  and  I  love  the 
boy's  eagerness.  He  has  in  him  the  stuff  of 
good  soldiers." 

And  for  these  words  I  could  have  kissed  the 
feet  of  Colonel  William  Gordon.  The  muster 
was  appointed  to  be  at  Earlstoun  on  the  mor- 
row, and  immediately  there  befell  at  Ardarroch 
a  great  polishing  of  accoutrement  and  grinding 
of  swords,  for  during  the  late  troubles  the  arms 
had  been  searched  for  over  and  over  again.  So 
it  befel  that  they  were  hidden  in  the  thatch  of 
outhouse  roofs,  wrapped  in  cloths  and  carried  to 
distant  sandhills  to  be  buried,  or  laid  away  in 
the  damp  caves  of  the  linns. 

Yet  by  the  time  all  was  brought  in  we  were 
armed  none  so  ill.     My  father  had  first  choice, 


74  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

and  then  we  three  lads  drew  lots  for  the  other 
weapons.  To  me  came  the  longest  straw,  and 
I  took  the  musket  and  a  broad-bladed  dagger, 
because  I  knew  that  our  madcap  David  had  set 
his  heart  on  the  basket-hilted  sword  to  swing 
by  his  side,  and  I  saw  Hob's  eyes  fixed  on  the 
pair  of  excellent  horse-pistols  which  my  father 
had  bought  when  the  effects  of  Patrick  Verner 
(called  "  the  Traitor  ")  were  sold  in  Dumfries. 

At  Earlstoun,  then,  we  assembled,  but  not 
immediately  at  the  great  house — for  that  was 
presently  under  repair  after  its  occupation  by 
troops  in  the  troubles — but  at  a  farmhouse  near 
by,  where  at  the  time  were  abiding  Mistress 
Alexander  Gordon  and  her  children,  waiting  for 
the  final  release  of  her  husband  from  Blackness 
Castle. 

When  it  came  to  the  point  of  our  setting 
out,  there  came  word  from  Colonel  Gordon  that 
no  more  than  two  of  us  were  to  go  to  Edin- 
burgh on  horseback,  owing  to  the  scarcity  of 
forage  in  the  city  and  the  difficulty  of  stabling 
horses. 

'  Let  us  again  draw  lots!  "  said  my  father. 

But  we  told  him  that  there  was  no  question 
of  that,  for  that  he  and  David  must  ride  while 
Hob  and  I  would  march  afoot. 


THE   MUSTER   OF   THE   HILL   FOLK.  75 

"  And  if  I  cannot  keep  up  with  the  best  that 
our  David  can  ride  on  Kittle  Kate,  I  will  drown 
myself  in  the  first  six-inch  duck-pond  upon  the 
road  to  Edinburgh!"  cried  Hob  MacClellan. 

So  we  went  down  the  green  loaning  of  Ar- 
darroch  with  the  women's  tears  yet  wet  upon 
our  cheeks,  and  a  great  opening  of  larger  hopes 
dominating  the  little  hollow  qualms  of  parting 
in  our  hearts.  Wider  horizons  beckoned  us  on. 
Intents  and  resolves,  new  and  strange,  thrilled 
us.  I  for  one  felt  for  the  first  time  altogether  a 
man,  and  I  said  within  my  heart  as  I  looked  at 
the  musket  which  my  father  carried  for  me 
across  his  saddle-bow  in  order  that  I  might  run 
light,  "  Gladly  will  I  die  for  the  sake  of  the  lad 
whom  I  saw  murdered  on  the  Bennan  top!  " 


CHAPTER  IX. 

I    MEET   MARY   GORDON    FOR   THE   SECOND   TIME. 

And  when  we  arrived,  lo!  before  the  little 
white  farm  there  was  a  great  muster.  My  Lord 
Kenmure  himself  rode  over  to  review  us.  For 
the  Committee  of  Estates  drawn  together  by 
the  Duke  Hamilton  had  named  him  as  respon- 
sible for  the  Stewartry  of  Kirkcudbright. 

But  that  which  was  of  greater  interest  to 
me  than  any  commission  or  enrollment  was  the 
appearing  of  two  women  upon  the  doorstep  of 
the  cottage — the  Lady  of  Earlstoun  and  her 
daughter  Mary. 

Now  it  is  to  be  remembered  that  Alexander 
Gordon's  wife  was  a  sister  of  Sir  Robert  Hamil- 
ton, the  commander  at  Bothwell  Brig — a  man 
whose  ungovernable  temper,  and  genius  for  set- 
ting one  man  at  variance  with  his  fellow,  had 
lost  us  Bothwell  Brig  and  the  life  of  many  a 
brave  lad  of  the  hills.     And  Mary's  mother,  Jean 

Hamilton,  was  like  her  brother  in  that  some- 
76 


I  MEET  MARY  GORDON  THE  SECOND  TIME. 


77 


what  pretentious  piety  which  is  of  all  things  the 
most  souring  and  embittering. 

So  that  even  my  father  said — good,  honest 
man,  that  would  speak  ill  of  none  all  the  days  of 
his  life:  "  If  I  had  a  wife  like  yon  woman,  I  de- 
clare I  would  e'en  turn  Malignant  and  shoot  her 
without  warrant  of  law  or  benefit  of  clergy." 

Jean  Gordon  came  down  off  the  doorstep 
and  stood  in  front  of  us  four  MacClellans,  look- 
ing out  upon  us  with  her  keen,  black  eyes,  and 
seeming  as  it  had  been,  ready  to  peck  at  us  with 
her  long  nose,  which  was  hooked  like  a  parrot's 
in  the  middle. 

"  Have  any  of  you  paid  the  King's  cess,*  or 
had  any  dealings  with  the  malignants? "  she 
said,  speaking  to  us  as  to  children  taken  in  a 
fault. 

'  Not  save  along  the  barrel  of  a  musket,  my 
lady  of  Earlstoun!  "  quoth  my  father,  drily. 

The  stern-visaged  woman  smiled  at  the  ready 
answer. 

"  E'en  stick  to  that,  goodman  of  Ardarroch 
— it  is  the  safest  commerce  with  such  ill-fa- 
voured cattle!  "  she  said. 

And  with  that  she  stepped  further  on  to  in- 

*  /.  e.,  the  taxes  for  the  support  of  the  military  establishments. 


78  THE  STANDARD   BEARER. 

terrogate  some  newcomers  who  had  arrived 
after  us  in  the  yard  of  the  farm. 

But  indeed  I  minded  her  nothing.  For 
there  was  a  sweeter  and  fairer  thing  to  see 
standing  by  the  cheek  of  the  door — even  young 
Mary  Gordon,  the  very  maid  I  had  once  carried 
so  far  in  my  arms,  now  grown  a  great  lass  and  a 
tall,  albeit  still  slender  as  a  year-old  wand  of 
willow  by  the  water's  edges.  Her  hair,  which 
had  been  lint  white  when  I  brought  her  down 
the  side  of  Bennan  after  the  shooting  of  the  poor 
lad,  was  now  darkening  into  a  golden  brown, 
with  thick  streaks  of  a  warmer  hue,  ruddy  as 
copper,  running  through  it. 

This  girl  leaned  against  the  doorstep,  her 
shapely  head  inclined  a  little  sideways,  and  her 
profile  clear  and  cold  as  the  graving  on  a  seal 
ring,  turned  away  from  me. 

For  my  life  I  could  not  take  my  eyes  off 
her. 

"  I,  even  I,  Quintin  MacClellan,  have  carried 
that  girl  in  my  arms  and  thought  nothing  of 
it! ':  I  said  the  words  over  and  over  to  myself, 
and  somehow  they  were  exceedingly  pleasing 
to  me. 

I  had  ever  sneered  at  love  and  lovemaking 
before,   but   (I   own   it)   after   seeing   that    fair 


I  MEET  MARY  GORDON  THE  SECOND  TIME. 


79 


young  lass  stand  by  the  low  entering  in  of  the 
farmhouse  door,  I  scoffed  no  more. 

Yet  she  seemed  all  unconscious  that  I  or 
any  other  was  near  her.  But  it  came  to  me 
with  power  I  could  not  resist,  that  I  should 
make  myself  known  to  her.  And  though  I  ex- 
pected nothing  of  remembrance,  grace,  or  fa- 
vour, yet — such  is  the  force  of  compelling  love, 
the  love  that  comes  at  the  first  sight  (and  I  be- 
lieve in  no  other  kind)  that  I  put  all  my  pride 
under  my  feet,  and  went  forward  humbly  to 
speak  with  her,  holding  my  bonnet  of  blue  in 
my  hand. 

For  as  yet  we  of  the  Earlstoun  levies  had 
fallen  into  no  sort  of  order,  neither  had  we  been 
drilled  according  to  the  rules  of  war,  but  stood 
about  in  scattering  groups,  waiting  for  the  end 
of  the  conference  between  my  Lord  of  Kenmure 
and  Colonel  William  Gordon. 

As  I  approached,  awkwardly  enough,  the 
maid  turned  her  eyes  upon  me  with  some  sur- 
prise, and  the  light  of  them  shone  cold  as  winter 
moonlight  glinting  upon  new-fallen  snow. 

I  made  my  best  and  most  dutiful  obedience, 
even  as  my  mother  had  showed  me,  for  she  was 
gentle  of  kin  and  breeding,  far  beyond  my 
father. 


80  THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 

"  Mistress  Mary,"  I  said,  scarce  daring  to 
raise  my  eyes  to  hers,  but  keeping  them  fixed 
upon  the  point  of  my  own  rough  brogans. 
"  You  have  without  doubt  forgotten  me.  Yet 
have  I  never  for  an  hour  forgotten  you." 

I  knew  all  the  while  that  her  eyes  were  burn- 
ing auger  holes  into  me.  But  I  could  not  raise 
my  awkward  coltish  face  to  hers.  She  stood 
a  little  more  erect,  waiting  for  me  to  speak 
again.  I  could  see  so  much  without  looking. 
Whereat,  after  many  trials,  I  mustered  up  cour- 
age to  go  on. 

"  Mind  you  not  the  lad  who  brought  you 
down  from  the  Bennan  top  so  long  ago,  and 
took  you  under  cloud  of  night  to  the  tower  of 
Lochinvar  on  the  raft  beneath  the  shelter  of 
beech  leaves?  " 

I  knew  there  was  a  kindly  interest  growing 
now  in  her  eyes.  But,  dolt  that  I  was,  I  could 
not  meet  them  a  whit  the  more  readily  because 
of  that. 

"  I  scarcely  remember  aught  of  it,"  she  said, 
"  yet  I  have  been  told  a  hundred  times  the  tale 
of  your  bringing  me  home  to  my  aunt  at  Loch- 
invar. It  is  somewhat  belated,  but  I  thank  you, 
sir,  for  your  courtesy." 

"  Nay,"  said  I,  "  'tis  all  I  have  to  be  thank- 


I  MEET  MARY  GORDON  THE  SECOND  TIME.     8l 

ful  for  in  my  poor  life,  that  I  took  you  safely 
past  the  cruel  persecutors." 

She  gave  me  a  quick,  strange  look. 

"  Yet  now  do  I  not  see  you  ready  to  ride  and 
persecute  in  your  turn?  " 

These  words,  from  the  daughter  of  Alex- 
ander Gordon  of  Earlstoun,  who  was  scarcely 
yet  liberate  from  the  prison  of  Blackness,  aston- 
ished me  so  much  that  I  stood  speechless. 

"  To  persecute  in  my  turn?  "  said  I.  "  Nay, 
my  dear  mistress,  I  go  to  uphold  the  banner  of 
Christ's  Kingdom  against  those  that  hate  Him." 

Very  scornfully  she  smiled. 

"  In  my  short  life,"  she  said,  "  I've  heard 
overmuch  of  such  talk.  I  know  to  an  ell  how 
much  it  means.  I  have  a  mother,  and  she  has 
friends  and  gossips.  To  me  the  triumph  of 
what  you  call  '  the  Kingdom  '  means  but  two 
things — the  Pharisee  exalted  and  the  bigot  tri- 
umphant. Prince  Jacob  of  Orange  may  sup- 
plant his  father  and  take  the  crown;  every  cant- 
ing Jack  may  fling  away  the  white  rose  and 
shout  for  the  Orange  lily.    But  not  I — not  I?  " 

She  flaunted  a  little  white  hand  suddenly 
palm  upward,  like  an  apple  blossom  blown  off 
the  branch  by  the  wind. 

To  say  that  I  was  astounded  by  this  out- 


82  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

break  is  to  say  little.  It  was  like  an  earthquake, 
the  trembling-  and  resolving  of  solid  land  under 
my  feet.  Alexander  Gordon's  child — "  the  Bull 
of  Earlstoun's  "  daughter — standing  openly  and 
boldly  for  the  cause  of  those  who  had  prisoned 
and,  perhaps,  tortured  her  father,  and  brought 
about  the  ruin  of  her  house! 

At  last  I  managed  to  speak. 
:  You  are  a  young  maiden,"  I  said,  as  quietly 
as  I  could,  "  and  you  know  nothing  of  the  great 
occasions  of  state,  the  persecutions  of  twenty- 
five  years,  the  blood  shed  on  lonely  hillsides,  the 
deaths  by  yet  wearier  sickness,  the  burials  under 
cloud  of  night  of  those  who  have  suffered !  " 

I  would  have  said  more,  but  that  she  pre- 
vented me  imperiously. 

"  I  know  all  there  is  to  know,"  she  cried, 
almost  insolently.  "  Have  I  not  broken  fast 
with  it,  dined  with  it,  taken  my  Four-hours  with 
it,  supped  with  it  ever  since  I  was  of  age  to  hear 
words  spoken?  But  to  my  thinking  the  root  of 
the  matter  is  that  you,  and  those  like  you,  will 
not  obey  the  rightful  King,  who  alone  is  to  be 
obeyed,  whose  least  word  ought  to  be  suffi- 
cient." 

"  But  not  in  religion — not  in  the  things  of 
conscience,"  I  stammered. 


I  MEET  MARY   GORDON  THE  SECOND  TIME.     83 

Again  she  waved  her  hand  floutingly. 

"  'Tis  not  my  idea  of  loyalty  only  to  be  loyal 
when  it  suits  my  whim,  only  to  obey  when 
obedience  is  easy  and  pleasant.  The  man  whom 
I  shall  honour  shall  know  nothing  of  such  sum- 
mer allegiance  as  that ! ': 

She  paused  a  moment  and  I  listened  intently. 

"  Nay,"  she  said,  "  he  shall  speak  and  I  shall 
obey.  He  shall  be  my  King,  even  as  King 
James  is  the  sovereign  of  his  people.  His  word 
shall  be  sacred  and-  his  will  law." 

There  was  a  light  of  something  like  devout 
obedience  in  her  eyes.  A  holy  vestal  flame  for  a 
moment  lighted  up  her  face.  I  knew  it  was  use- 
less to  argue  with  her  then. 

"  Nevertheless,"  I  answered  very  meekly, 
"  at  least  you  will  not  wholly  forget  that  I 
brought  you  to  a  place  of  safety,  sheltering  you 
in  my  arms  and  venturing  into  dark  waters  for 
your  sake!  " 

Now  though  I  looked  not  directly  at  her,  I 
could  see  the  cold  light  in  her  eyes  grow  more 
scornful. 

"  You  do  well  to  remind  me  of  my  obliga- 
tion. But  do  not  be  afraid;  you  shall  be  satis- 
fied. I  will  speak  of  you  to  my  father.  Doubt- 
less, when  he  comes  home  he  will  be  great  with 


84  THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 

the  Usurper  and  those  that  bear  rule  under  him. 
You  shall  be  rewarded  to  the  top  of  your  de- 
sires." 

Then  there  rose  a  hot  indignation  in  my 
heart  that  she  should  thus  wilfully  misunder- 
stand me. 

"  You  do  me  great  wrong,  my  Lady  Mary," 
I  answered;  "  I  desire  no  reward  from  you  or 
yours,  saving  only  your  kindly  remembrance, 
nor  yet  any  advancement  save,  if  it  might  be, 
into  your  favour." 

"  That,"  she  said,  turning  petulantly  away, 
"  you  will  never  get  till  I  see  the  white  rose  in 
your  bonnet  instead  of  those  Whiggish  and 
rebel  colours." 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE    BLUE    BANNER    IS    UP. 

Now  though  at  first  I  was  grievously  aston- 
ished that  the  daughter  of  Alexander  Gordon 
and  his  wife  Janet  Hamilton  should  so  speak, 
yet  when  I  come  to  consider  further  of  the 
matter  it  apppears  noways  so  wonderful. 

For  her  father,  when  I  came  to  know  him, 
showed  himself  a  great,  strong,  kindly,  hard- 
driving  "  nowt  "  of  a  man,  with  a  spiritual  con- 
ceit equal  to  his  knowledge  of  his  bodily  powers. 
But,  for  all  his  great  pretensions,  Sandy  Gordon 
was  essentially  a  man  carnal  and  of  the  world, 
ever  more  ready  to  lay  on  lustily  with  the  arm  of 
the  flesh  than  trust  to  the  sword  of  the  Spirit. 

The  "  Bull  of  Earlestoun  "  was  he  right  fitly 
called. 

And  with  his  children  his  method  of  train- 
ing would  doubtless  be  "  Believe  this!  Receive 
that  other!  "     Debate  and  appeal  there  would 

be  none.     So  there  is  nothing  to  wonder  at  in 

85 


S6  THE    STANDARD   BEARER. 

the  revolt  of  a  nature  every  whit  as  imperious 
as  that  of  her  father,  joined  to  a  woman's  natural 
whimsies  and  set  within  the  periphery  of  a  girl's 
slender  form. 

And  then  her  mother! 

If  Sandy  Gordon  had  proved  trying  to  such 
a  mind  as  that  of  Mary  Gordon,  what  of  Janet 
Hamilton,  his  wife? 

She  had  been  reared  in  the  strictest  sect  of 
the  Extremists.  Every  breath  of  difference  or 
opposition  to  her  orthodoxies  or  those  of  her 
brother  Sir  Robert  was  held  rank  treason  to  the 
cause.  She  had  constant  visions,  and  these 
visions  pointed  ever  to  the  cardinal  truth  that 
Janet  Hamilton  was  eternally  right  and  every 
one  else  eternally  wrong. 

So  Alexander  Gordon,  as  often  as  he  was  at 
home,  bullied  back  and  forth  concerning  Cove- 
nants and  sufferings,  while  at  other  times  his 
wife  worried  and  yammered,  bitter  as  the  east 
wind  and  irritant  as  a  thorn  in  the  flesh,  till  the 
girl  was  driven,  as  it  were,  in  self-defence  into 
other  and  as  intolerant  extremes. 

Yet  when  her  parents  were  most  angered 
with  her  for  this  perversity,  some  sudden  pretty 
wile  or  quaint  bairnliness  would  set  them  laugh- 
ing in  spite  of  themselves,  or  a  loving  word  of 


THE   BLUE    BANNER   IS   UP. 


37 


penitence  bring  the  tears  into  their  eyes.  And 
while  she  chose  to  be  good  Mary  Gordon,  the 
family  rebel,  the  disgrace  of  a  godly  home,  would 
be  again  their  own  winsome  little  May,  with  a 
smile  as  sweet  as  the  Benediction  after  sermon 
on  a  summer  Sabbath  morn,  when  the  lilac  and 
the  hawthorn  blossom  scent  all  the  kirk. 

But  as  for  me,  having  had  trial  of  none  of 
these  wiles  and  witchcrafts,  I  was  grieved  in- 
deed to  hear  one  so  fair  take  the  part  of  the 
cruel  persecutors  and  murderers  of  our  brethren, 
the  torturers  of  her  father,  the  men  to  whose 
charge  could  be  laid  the  pillage  and  spoiling  of 
the  bonny  house  of  Earlstoun,  and  the  turning 
of  her  mother  out  upon  the  inclement  pitiless- 
ness  of  a  stormy  winter. 

But  with  old  and  young  alike  the  wearing 
iteration  of  a  fretful  woman's  yammering  tongue 
will  oftentimes  drive  further  and  worse  than  all 
the  clattering  horses  and  pricking  bayonets  of 
persecution. 

Yet  even  then  I  thought  within  me,  "  Far 
be  it  from  me  that  I  should  ever  dream  of  win- 
ning the  heart  of  so  fair  and  great  a  lady.  But 
if  by  the  wondrous  grace  of  God,  so  I  ever  did, 
I  should  be  none  afraid  but  that  in  a  little  blink 

of  time  she  would  think  even  as  I  did.    And  this 
7 


88  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

was  the  beginning  of  the  feeling  I  had  for  Mary 
Gordon.  Yet  being  but  little  more  than  a  shep- 
herd lad  from  off  the  hills  of  heather  she  was  to 
me  almost  as  one  of  the  angels,  and  I  thought  of 
her  not  at  all  as  a  lad  thinks  in  his  heart  of  a 
pretty  lass,  to  whom  one  day  if  he  prosper  he 
may  even  himself  in  the  way  of  love. 

After  a  day  or  two  at  Earlstoun,  spent  in 
drilling  and  mustering,  in  which  time  I  saw 
nothing  more  of  Mary  Gordon,  we  set  off  in 
ordered  companies  towards  Edinburgh.  The 
word  had  been  brought  to  us  that  the  Conven- 
tion was  in  great  need  of  support,  for  that 
Clavers  (whom  now  they  called  my  Lord  Dun- 
dee) was  gathering  his  forces  to  disperse  it,  so 
that  every  one  of  the  true  Covenant  men  went 
daily  in  fear  of  their  lives. 

Whereupon  the  whole  Seven  Thousand  of 
the  West  and  South  were  called  up  by  the  El- 
ders. And  to  those  among  us  who  had  no  arms 
four  thousand  muskets  and  swords  were  served 
out,  which  were  sent  by  the  Convention  to  the 
South  and  West  under  cover  of  a  panic  story 
that  the  wild  Irishers  had  landed  and  burnt 
Kirkcudbright. 

Hob  and  I  marched  shoulder  to  shoulder, 
and  our  officer  was  of  one  name  with  us,  one 


THE   BLUE   BANNER   IS   UP.  89 

Captain  Clelland,a  young  soldier  of  a  good  stock 
who  in  Holland  had  learnt  the  art  of  war. 
But  Colonel  William  Gordon,  the  uncle  of  the 
lass  Mary,  commanded  all  our  forces. 

So  in  time  we  reached  the  brow  of  the  hill 
of  Liberton  and  looked  northward  towards  the 
town  of  Edinburgh,  reeling  slantways  down  its 
windy  ridge,  and  crowned  with  the  old  Imperial 
coronet  of  St.  Giles  where  Knox  had  preached, 
while  the  castle  towered  in  pride  over  all. 

It  was  a  great  day  for  me  when  first  I  saw 
those  grey  towers  against  the  sky.  But  down 
in  the  howe  of  the  Grassmarket  there  was  a  place 
that  was  yet  dearer — the  black  ugly  gibbet 
whereon  so  many  saints  of  God,  dear  and  pre- 
cious, had  counted  their  lives  but  dross  that  they 
might  win  the  crown  of  faithfulness.  And  when 
we  marched  through  the  West  Port,  and  passed 
it  by,  it  was  in  our  heart  to  cheer,  for  we  knew 
that  with  the  tyrant's  fall  all  this  was  at  an  end. 

But  Colonel  William  Gordon  checked  us. 

"  Rather  your  bonnets  off,  lads,"  he  cried, 
"  and  put  up  a  prayer!  " 

And  so  we  did.  And  then  we  faced  about 
and  filed  straight  up  into  the  town.  And  as  the 
sound  of  our  marching  echoed  through  the  nar- 
rows of   the   West    Bow,    the   waiting   faithful 


go 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


threw  up  their  windows  and  blessed  us,  hailing 
us  as  their  saviours. 

Company  after  company  went  by,  regular 
and  disciplined  as  soldiers;  but  in  the  Law- 
market,  where  the  great  folk  dwelt,  there  were 
many  who  peeped  in  fear  through  their  barred 
lattices. 

"  The  wild  Whigs  of  the  West  have  risen 
and  are  marching  into  Edinburgh!  "  so  ran  the 
cry. 

We  of  Colonel  Gordon's  Glenkens  Foot  were 
set  to  guard  the  Parliament  House,  and  as 
we  waited  there,  though  I  carried  a  hungry 
belly,  yet  I  stood  with  my  heart  exulting 
proudly  within  me  to  see  the  downtrodden 
at  last  set  on  high  and  those  of  low  estate  ex- 
alted. 

For  the  sidewalks  and  causeways  of  the 
High-street  were  filled  with  eager  crowds,  but 
the  crown  of  it  was  kept  as  bare  as  for  the  pass- 
ing of  a  royal  procession.  And  down  it  towards 
Holyrood  tramped  steadily  and  ceaselessly,  com- 
pany by  company,  the  soldiers  of  the  Other 
Kingdom. 

Stalwart  men  in  grey  homespun  they  were, 
each  with  his  sword  belted  to  him,  his  musket 
over  his  shoulder,  and  his  store  of  powder  and 


THE   BLUE   BANNER   IS   UP. 


91 


lead  by  his  side.  Then  came  squadrons  of  horses 
riding  two  and  two,  some  well  mounted,  and 
others  on  country  nags,  but  all  of  them  steady 
in  their  saddles  as  King's  guards.  And  when 
these  had  passed,  again  company  after  company 
of  footmen. 

Never  a  song  or  an  oath  from  end  to  end, 
not  so  much  as  a  cheer  along  all  the  ranks  as 
the  Hill  Men  marched  grimly  in. 

"Tramp!  tramp!  tramp! ':  So  they  passed, 
as  if  the  line  would  never  end.  And  at  the  head 
of  each  company  the  blue  banner  of  Christ's 
Covenant — the  standard  that  had  been  trailed 
in  the  dust,  but  that  could  never  be  wholly  put 
down. 

Then  after  a  while  among  the  new  flags, 
bright  with  silk  and  blazening,  there  came  one 
tattered  and  stained,  ragged  at  the  edges,  and 
pierced  with  many  holes.  There  ran  a  whisper. 
"  It  is  the  flag  of  Ayrsmoss!  " 

And  at  sight  of  its  torn  folds,  and  the  writing 
of  dulled  and  blistered  gold  upon  it,  "  For 
Christ's  Cause  and  Covenant,"  I  felt  the  tears 
well  from  the  heart  up  to  my  eyes,  and  some- 
thing broke  sharply  with  a  little  audible  cry  in 
my  throat. 

Then  an  old  Covenant  man  who  had  been 


92 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


both  at  Drumclog  and  the  Brig  of  Bothwell, 
turned  quickly  to  me  with  kindly  eyes. 

"  Nay,  lad,"  he  said,  "  rather  be  glad!  The 
standard  that  was  sunken  in  a  sea  of  blood  is 
cleansed  and  set  up  again.  And  now  in  this 
our  day  woe  be  to  the  persecutors!  The  banner 
they  trailed  in  the  dust  behind  the  dripping 
head  of  Richard  Cameron  shall  wave  on  the 
Nether  Bow  of  Edinburgh,  where  the  corbies 
picked  his  eyes  and  his  fair  cheeks  blackened  in 
the  sun." 

And  so  it  was,  for  they  set  it  there  betwixt 
the  High-street  and  the  Canongate,  and  from 
that  day  forth,  during  all  the  weeks  of  the  Con- 
vention, the  Covenant  men  held  the  city  quiet 
as  a  frighted  child  under  their  hand. 


CHAPTER   XL 

THE    RED    GRANT. 

It  was  while  we  continued  to  sojourn  in 
Edinburgh  for  the  protection  of  the  Conven- 
tion that  first  I  began  to  turn  my  mind  to  the 
stated  ministry  of  the  Kirk,  for  I  saw  well  that 
this  soldiering  work  must  ere  long  come  to  an 
end.  And  yet  all  my  heart  went  out  towards 
something  better  than  the  hewing  of  peats  upon 
the  moor  and  the  foddering  of  oxen  in  stall. 

Yet  for  long  I  could  not  see  how  the  matter 
was  to  be  accomplished,  for  the  Cameronian  hill- 
folk  had  never  had  a  minister  since  James  Ren- 
wick  bade  his  farewell  to  sun  and  moon  and  De- 
sirable General  Meetings  down  in  the  Edinburgh 
Grassmarket.  There  was  no  authority  in  Scot- 
land capable  of  ordaining  a  Cameronian  min- 
ister. I  knew  how  impossible  it  was  that  I  could 
go  to  Holland,  as  Renwick  and  Linning  and 
Shields  had  done,  at  the  expense  of  the  societies 
— for  the  way  of  some  of  these  men  had  even 

93 


94 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


now  begun  to  sour  and  disgust  the  elders  of  the 
Hill  Folk. 

So  since  no  better  might  be  I  turned  my 
mind  to  the  ministry  of  the  Reformed  Kirk  as  it 
had  been  established  by  law,  and  resolved  to 
spend  my  needful  seasons  as  a  student  of  the 
theologies  in  the  town  of  Edinburgh.  I  spoke 
to  my  father  of  my  decision,  and  he  was  willing 
that  I  should  try  the  work. 

"  I  will  gladly  be  at  your  college  charges, 
Quintin,"  he  said;  "but  mind,  lad,  it  will  de- 
pend how  I  sell  my  sheep,  whether  ye  get 
muckle  to  put  in  your  belly.  Yet,  perchance,  as 
the  auld  saw  hath  it,  '  hungry  dogs  hunt  best.' 
So  mayhap  that  may  likewise  hold  true  of  the 
getting  of  learning." 

So  in  the  autumn  of  that  year  of  the  Con- 
vention, and  some  months  after  our  return,  I 
made  me  ready  to  go  to  college,  and  to  my  in- 
finite surprise  Hob,  my  brother,  declared  that  he 
would  come  also. 

"  For,"  said  he,  "  my  father  does  not  need 
me  now  at  home,  at  least,  not  till  the  spring  and 
the  lambing  time." 

My  father  demurred  a  little.  But  Hob  got 
his  way  because  he  had,  as  I  well  saw,  my 
mother  behind  him.    Now  Hob  was  (and  is)  the 


THE   RED   GRANT. 


95 


best  of  brothers — slow,  placid,  self-contained, 
with  little  humour  in  him,  but  filled  with  a  great, 
quiet  faithfulness.  And  he  has  abode  with  me 
through  many  tears  and  stern  trials. 

So  in  due  time  to  Edinburgh  we  twain  went, 
and  while  I  trudged  it  back  and  forth  to  the 
college  Hob  bought  with  his  savings  a  pedlar's 
pack,  and  travelled  town  and  country  with 
swatches  of  cloth,  taches  for  the  hair,  pins  for 
the  dresses  of  women-folk,  and  for  the  men 
chap-books  and  Testaments.  But  the  strange 
thing  is  that,  slow  and  silent  as  our  Hob  is  at 
most  times,  he  could  make  his  way  with  the 
good  wives  of  the  Lothians  as  none  of  those 
bred  to  the  trade  could  do.  They  tell  me  he 
was  mightily  successful. 

I  only  know  that  many  a  day  we  two  might 
have  gone  hungry  to  bed  had  it  not  been  for 
what  Hob  brought  home,  instead  of,  as  it  was, 
having  our  kites  panged  full  with  good  meat, 
like  Tod  Lowrie  when  the  lambs  are  young  on 
the  hill.* 

And  often  when  my  heart  was  done  with 
the  dull  and  dowie  days,  the  hardness  of  my 
heart,  and  the  wryness  of  learning,  Hob  would 


*  Like  a  fox  in  lambing-time. 


96  the  standard  bearer. 

come  in  with  a  lightsome  quirk  on  his  queer 
face,  or  a  jest  on  his  tongue,  picked  up  in  some 
of  the  outlying  villages,  so  that  I  could  not  help 
but  smile  at  him,  which  made  the  learning  all 
the  easier  afterward. 

Yet  the  hardest  part  of  my  sore  toil  at  col- 
lege was  the  thought  that  the  more  I  travailed 
at  the  theologies,  the  less  of  living  religion  was 
in  my  soul.  Indeed,  it  was  not  till  I  had  been 
back  some  time  among  the  common  folk  who 
sin  and  die  and  are  buried,  that  I  began  again 
to  taste  the  savour  of  vital  religion  as  of  old. 
For  to  my  thinking  there  is  no  more  godless 
class  than  just  the  young  collegers  in  divinity. 
Nor  is  this  only  a  mock,  as  Hob  would  have 
made  of  it,  saying  with  his  queer  smile,  li  Quin- 
tin,  what  think  ye  o'  a  mission  to  the  heathen 
divinity  lads — to  set  the  fire  o'  hell  to  their  tails, 
even  as  Peden  the  Prophet  bade  Richie  Cam- 
eron do  to  the  border  thieves  o'  Annandale?  ' 

Connect  and  Addition  to  Chapter  XL  made  in  after 
years  by  Me,  Hob  MacClcllan. 

It  is  well  seen  from  the  foregoing  that  Ouin- 
tin,  my  brother,  had  no  easy  time  of  it  while  he 
was  at  the  college,  where  they  called  him  "  Sepa- 
rator," "  Hill  Whig,"  "  Young  Drumclog,"  and 


THE   RED   GRANT. 


97 


other  nicknames,  some  of  which  grieved  the  lad 
sore. 

Now  they  were  mostly  leather-jawed,  slack- 
twisted  Geordies  from  the  Hieland  border  that 
so  troubled  our  Quintin — who,  though  he  was 
not  averse  to  the  sword  or  the  pistol  in  a  good 
cause,  yet  would  not  even  be  persuaded  to  lift 
his  fist  to  one  of  these  rascals,  lest  it  should 
cause  religion  to  be  spoken  against.  But  I  was 
held  by  none  of  these  scruples. 

So  it  chanced  that  one  night  as  we  came  out 
of  the  College  Wynd  in  the  early  falling  winter 
gloaming,  one  of  these  bothy-men  from  the 
North  called  out  an  ill  name  after  us — "  por- 
ridge-fed Galloway  pigs,"  or  something  of  the 
kind.  Whereat  very  gladly  I  dealt  him  so  sound 
a  buffet  on  the  angle  of  his  jaw  that  his  head 
was  not  set  on  straight  again  all  the  winter. 

After  this  we  adjourned  to  settle  our  differ- 
ences at  the  corner  of  the  plainstones;  but 
Quintin  and  the  other  theologians  who  had 
characters  to  lose  took  their  way  home,  grieved 
in  spirit.  Or  so  at  least  I  think  he  pretended 
to  himself. 

For  when  I  came  in  to  our  lodging  an  hour 
after  his  first  words  were:  "  Did  ye  give  him 
his  licks,  Hob? ':     And  that  question,  to  which 


98  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

I  answered  simply  that  I  had  and  soundly,  did 
not  argue  that  the  ancient  Adam  had  been  fully 
exorcised  from  our  Quintin. 

All  the  same  the  Highlandman  was  none  so 
easy  to  handle,  being  a  red-headed  Grant  from 
Speyside,  and  more  inclined  to  come  at  you  with 
his  thick  skull,  like  a  charging  boar  of  Rothie- 
murchus,  than  decently  to  stand  up  with  the 
brave  bare  knuckles,  as  we  are  wont  to  do  in  the 
South. 

A  turn  or  two  at  Kelton  Hill  fair  would  have 
done  him  no  harm  and  taught  him  that  he  must 
not  fight  with  such  an  ungodly  battering-ram  as 
his  head.  I  know  lads  there  who  would  have  met 
him  on  the  crown  with  the  toe  of  their  brogans. 

But  this  I  scorned,  judging  it  feater  to  deal 
him  a  round-arm  blow  behind  the  ear  and  leap 
aside.  The  first  of  these  discouraged  the  Grant; 
the  second  dropped  him  on  the  causeway  dumb 
and  limp. 

'Well  done,  Galloway!'  cried  a  voice 
above;  "  but  ye  shall  answer  for  this  the  morn, 
every  man  o'  ye!  " 

'Run,  lads,  run!  Tis  the  Regent!"  came 
the  answering  cry  from  the  collegers. 

And  with  that  every  remaining  student  lad 
ran  his  best  in  the  direction  of  his  own  lodging. 


THE   RED   GRANT.  go 

'  Well,  sir,  have  ye  killed  the  Speyside  Hie- 
landman?"  said  the  Doctor  from  his  window, 
when  I  remained  alone  by  the  fallen  chieftain. 
The  Regent  came  from  the  West  himself,  and, 
they  say,  bore  the  Grants  no  love,  for  all  that 
he  was  so  holy  a  man. 

"  I  think  not,"  I  answered  doubtfully,  "  but 
I'll  take  him  round  to  the  infirmary  and 
see!" 

And  with  that  I  hoisted  up  the  Red  Grant 
on  my  shoulders,  carried  him  down  the  Infirm- 
ary Close,  and  hammered  on  the  door  till  the 
young  chirurgeon  who  kept  the  place,  thinking 
me  to  be  drunk,  came  to  threaten  me  with  the 
watch. 

Then,  the  bolts  being  drawn,  I  backed  the 
Highlandman  into  the  crack  of  the  door  and 
discharged  him  upon  the  floor. 

'  There's  a  heap  of  good  college  divinity," 
I  said.  "  The  Regent  sent  me  to  bid  ye  find  out 
if  he  be  dead  or  alive." 

So  with  no  more  said  we  got  him  on  a  board, 
and  at  the  first  jag  of  the  lancet  my  Grant  lad 
sat  him  up  on  end  with  a  loup  like  a  Jack-in-the- 
box.  But  when  he  saw  where  he  was,  and  the 
poor  bits  of  dead  folk  that  the  surgeon  laddies 
had  been  learning  on  that  day,  he  fetched  a  yell 


IOO  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

up  from  the  soles  of  his  Highland  shoon,  and 
bounced  off  the  board,  crying,  "  Ye'll  no  cut  me 
up  as  lang  as  Donald  Grant's  a  leeving  man, 
whatever  ye  may  do  when  he's  dead! ': 

And  so  he  took  through  the  door  as  if  the 
dogs  had  been  after  him. 

Then  the  blood-letting  man  was  for  charg- 
ing me  with  the  cost  of  his  time,  but  I  bade  him 
apply  to  Regent  Campbell  over  at  the  college, 
telling  him  that  it  was  he  who  had  sent  me. 
But  whether  ever  he  did  so  or  not  I  never  heard. 

Now  the  rarest  jest  of  the  whole  matter  was 
on  the  morrow,  when  Quintin  went  to  attend 
his  prelection  in  Hall.  The  lesson,  so  he  told 
me,  was  in  the  Latin  of  Essenius,  his  Compend, 
and  Quintin  was  called  up.  After  he  "had  an- 
swered upon  his  portion,  and  well,  as  I  presume, 
for  Quintin  was  no  dullard  at  his  books,  Dr. 
Campbell  looked  down  a  little  queerly  at  him. 

'  Can  you  tell  me  which  is  the  sixth  com- 
mandment?" says  he. 

'  Thou  shalt  not  kill!  "  answers  Quintin,  as 
simple  as  supping  brose. 

'  Then,  are  you  a  murderer  or  no — this 
morning?  " 

Quintin,  thinking  that,  after  the  fashion  of 
the  time,  the  Regent  meant  some  divinity  quirk 


THE   RED   GRANT.  IOi 

or  puzzle,  laid  his  brains  asteep,  and  answered 
that  as  he  had  certainly  "  hated  his  brother,"  in 
that  sense  he  was  doubtless,  like  all  the  rest  of 
the  human  race,  technically  and  theologically 
a  murderer. 

'  But,"  said  the  Professor,  "  what  of  the 
Highland  Grant  lad  that  ye  felled  like  a  bullock 
yestreen  under  my  window?  " 

Now  it  had  never  struck  me  that  I  was  like 
my  brother  Ouintin  in  outward  appearance,  save 
in  the  way  that  all  we  black  MacClellans  are 
like  one  another — long  in  the  nose,  bushy  in  the 
eyebrows,  which  mostly  reach  over  to  meet  one 
another.  And  I  grant  it  that  Ouintin  was  ever 
better  mettle  for  a  lass's  eye  than  I — though  not 
worth  a  pail  of  calf's  feed  in  the  matter  of  mak- 
ing love  as  love  ought  to  be  made,  which  counts 
more  with  women  than  all  fine  appearings. 

But  for  the  nonce  let  that  fly  stick  to  the 
wall;  at  any  rate,  sure  it  is  that  the  Professor 
loon  had  taken  me  for  Ouintin. 

Now  it  will  greatly  help  those  who  read  this 
chronicle  to  remember  what  Ouintin  did  on  this 
occasion.  I  would  not  have  cared  a  doit  if  he 
had  said,  in  the  plain  hearing  of  the  class,  that 
it  was  his  brother  Plob  the  Lothian  packman 
who  had  felled  the  Red  Grant. 


IG2  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

But  would  the  lad  betray  his  brother?  No! 
He  rather  hung  his  head,  and  said  no  more  than 
that  he  heard  the  Red  Grant  was  not  seriously 
hurt.  For  as  he  said  afterwards,  "  I  did  not 
know  what  such  a  tribe  of  angry,  dirked  High- 
landmen  might  have  done  to  you,  Hob,  if  they 
had  so  much  as  guessed  it  was  no  colleger's  fist 
which  had  taken  Donald  an  inch  beneath  the 
ear." 

'  Then,"  said  the  Regent  to  Quintin,  "  my 
warrior  of  Wild  Whigdom,  you  may  set  to  the 
learning  of  thirty  psalms  by  heart  in  the  original 
Hebrew.  And  after  you  have  said  them  without 
the  book  I  will  consider  of  your  letters  of  certi- 
fication from  this  class." 

To  which  task  my  brother  owes  that  fa- 
miliarity with  the  Psalms  of  David  which 
has  often  served  him  to  such  noble  purpose — 
both  when,  like  Boanerges,  he  thundered  in 
the  open  fields  to  the  listening  peoples,  and 
when  at  closer  range  he  spoke  with  his  ene- 
mies in  the  gate.  For  thirty  would  not  suit 
this  hungrisome  Quintin  of  ours.  He  must 
needs  learn  the  whole  hundred  and  fifty  (is  it 
not?)  by  rote  before  he  went  back  to  the  Re- 
gent. 

'  Which  thirty  psalms  are  ye  prepared  to  re- 


THE    RED   GRANT.  ^3 

cite? ':    queried  the   Professor  under  the  bush 
of  his  eyebrows. 

"Any  thirty!  "  answered  brave  Quintin,  un- 
abashed, yet  noways  uplifted. 

Now  the  rest  of  my  brother's  college  life  may 
be  told  in  a  word.  I  know  that  he  had  written 
many  chapters  upon  his  struggles  and  heart- 
questionings  as  to  duty  and  guidance  at  that 
time.  But  whether  he  destroyed  them  himself, 
or  whether  they  exist  in  some  undiscovered  re- 
pository, certain  it  is  that  the  next  portion  of 
his  autobiography  which  has  come  into  my 
hands  deals  with  the  time  of  his  settlement  in 
the  parish  of  Balmaghie,  where  he  was  to  endure 
so  many  strange  things. 

It  is  enough  to  say  that  year  after  year  Quin- 
tin and  I  returned  to  the  college  with  the  fall  of 
the  leaf,  I  with  my  pack  upon  my  back,  ever 
gaining  ready  hospitality  because  of  the  songs 
and  merry  tales  in  my  wallet.  When  we  jour- 
neyed to  and  fro  Quintin  abode  mostly  at  the 
road-ends  and  loaning-foots  while  I  went  up  to 
chaffer  with  the  good-wives  in  the  hallans  and 
ben-rooms  of  the  farmhouses.  Then,  in  the 
same  manner  as  at  first,  we  fought  our  way 
through  the  dull,  iron-grey  months  of  winter  in 

8 


104 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


Auld  Reekie.  Each  spring,  as  the  willow  buds 
furred  and  yellowed,  saw  us  returning  to  the 
hill-farm  again  with  our  books  and  packs.  And 
all  the  while  I  kept  Quintin  cheerful  company, 
looking  to  his  clothes  and  mending  at  his  stock- 
ings and  body-gear  as  he  sat  over  his  books. 
Mainly  it  was  a  happy  time,  for  I  knew  that  the 
lad  would  do  us  credit.  And  as  my  mother  said 
many  and  many  a  time,  "  Our  Quintin  has 
wealth  o'  lear  and  wealth  o'  grace,  but  he  hasna 
as  muckle  common-sense  as  wad  seriously  blind 
a  midge." 

So  partly  because  my  mother  put  me 
through  a  searching  catechism  on  my  return, 
and  also  because  I  greatly  loved  the  lad,  I 
watched  him  night  and  day,  laid  his  clothes  out, 
dried  his  rig-and-fur  hose,  greased  his  shoon 
of  home-tanned  leather  to  keep  out  the  search- 
ing snow-brew  of  the  Edinburgh  streets.  For, 
save  when  the  frost  grips  it,  sharp  and  snell,  'tis 
a  terrible  place  to  live  in,  that  town  of  Edin- 
burgh in  the  winter  season. 

Here  begins  again  the  narrative  of  Quintin  my 

brother. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    LASS    IN    THE    KIRKYARD. 

I  had  been  well-nigh  a  year  about  the  great 
house  of  Girthon  as  family  chaplain  to  the  laird, 
when  there  came  a  call  to  accept  the  ministry 
of  the  Gospel  among  the  people  of  Balmaghie. 
It  was  a  parish  greatly  to  my  mind.  It  lies,  as 
all  know,  in  the  heart  of  Galloway,  between  the 
slow,  placid  sylvan  stretches  of  the  Ken  and 
the  rapid,  turbulent  mill-race  of  the  Black 
Water  of  Dee. 

From  a  worldly  point  of  view  the  parish  was 
most  desirable.  For  though  the  income  in 
money  and  grain  was  not  great,  nevertheless  the 
whole  amount  was  equal  to  the  income  of  most 
of  the  smaller  lairds  in  the  neighbourhood. 

Yet  for  all  these  things,  I  trust  that  those 
in  future  times  who  may  read  this  my  life  rec- 
ord will  acquit  me  of  the  sin  of  self-seeking. 

I  mind  well  the  first  time  that  I  preached 

in  the  parish  which  was  to  be  mine  own.     I 

105 


I06  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

had  walked  with  naught  but  my  Bible  in  my 
pocket  over  the  long,  lone  hill-road  from  Gir- 
thon  to  Balmaghie.  I  had  with  me  no  prov- 
ender to  comfort  my  stomach  by  the  way,  or 
to  speed  my  feet  over  the  miles  of  black  heather 
moors  and  green  morass. 

For  the  housekeeper,  to  whom  (for  reasons 
into  which  I  need  not  enter)  everything  in  the 
laird's  house  of  Girthon  was  committed,  was  a 
fair-faced,  hard-natured,  ill-hearted  woman,  who 
liked  not  the  coming  of  a  chaplain  into  the 
house — as  she  said,  ''  stirring  up  the  servants 
to  gad  about  to  preachings,  and  taking  up  their 
time  with  family  worship  and  the  like  foolish- 
ness." 

So  she  went  out  of  her  way  to  ensure  that 
the  chaplains  would  stay  only  until  they  could 
obtain  quittance  of  so  bare  and  thankless  a 
service. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  kirk  of  Balmaghie, 
having  come  all  the  long  journey  from  Girthon 
on  foot  and  fasting,  I  sat  me  down  on  a  flat 
stone  in  the  kirkyard,  near  by  where  the  mar- 
tyrs lie  snug  and  bieldy  at  the  gable-end. 

So  exhausted  was  I  that  I  know  not  what 
I  should  have  done  but  for  a  young  lass,  comely 
and  well  put  on,  who  gave  me  the  farle  of  oat- 


THE   LASS   IN   THE    KIRKYARD.  i0j 

cake  she  had  brought  with  her  for  her  "  morn- 

ing." 

"  You  are  the  young  minister  who  is  to 
preach  to  us  this  day?  "  she  said,  going  over 
to  the  edge  of  the  little  wood  which  at  that  time 
bounded  the  kirkyard. 

I  answered  her  that  I  was  and  that  I  had 
walked  all  the  way  from  the  great  house  of 
Girthon  that  morning — whereat  she  held  up  her 
hands  in  utter  astonishment. 

"  It  is  just  not  possible,"  she  cried. 

And  after  pitying  me  a  long  time  with  her 
eyes,  and  urging  me  to  eat  her  '  piece  "  up 
quickly,  she  featly  stooped  down  to  the  water 
and  washed  her  feet  and  ankles,  before  draw- 
ing upon  them  a  pair  of  white  hosen,  fair  and 
thin,  and  fastening  her  shoes  with  the  buckles 
of  silver  after  a  pretty  fashion  which  was  just 
coming  in. 

It  was  yet  a  full  hour  and  a  half  before  the 
beginning  of  the  morning  diet  of  worship,  for 
I  had  risen  betimes  and  travelled  steadily.  Now 
the  kirk  of  Balmaghie  stands  in  a  lonely  place, 
and  even  the  adjoining  little  clachan  of  folk 
averts  itself  some  distance  from  it. 

Then  being  hungry  I  sat  and  munched  at 
the  lass's  piece,  till,  with  thinking  on  my  ser- 


IOS  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

mon  and  looking  at  her  by  the  waterside,  I  had 
well-nigh  eaten  it  every  snatch.  So  when  I 
awoke  from  my  reverie,  as  from  a  deep  sleep, 
I  sat  with  a  little  bit  of  bread,  the  size  of  my 
thumb,  in  my  hand,  staring  at  it  as  if  I  had  seen 
a  fairlie.* 

And  what  was  worse,  the  lass  seeing  me 
thus  speechless,  and  with  my  jaws  yet  working 
on  the  last  of  the  crust,  went  off  into  peal  after 
peal  of  laughter. 

'  What  for  do  ye  look  at  me  like  that,  young 
lad?  "  she  said,  when  she  had  sufficiently  com- 
manded herself. 

"  I — I  have  eaten  all  your  midday  piece, 
whiles  I  was  thinking  upon  my  sermon,"  I  said. 

"  More  befitting  is  it  that  you  should  think 
upon  your  sermon  than  of  things  lighter  and 
less  worthy,"  said  she,  without  looking  up  at 
me.  I  was  pleased  with  her  solid  answer  and 
felt  abashed. 

'  But  you  will  go  wanting,"  I  began. 

She  gartered  one  shapely  stocking  of  silk 
ere  she  answered  me,  holding  the  riband  that 
was  to  cincture  the  other  in  her  mouth,  as  ap- 
pears to  be  the  curious  fashion  of  women. 

*  /.  e.,  a  marvel. 


THE   LASS   IN   THE   KIRKYARD. 


IO9 


"  What  matter,"  she  said,  presently,  as  she 
stroked  down  her  kirtle  over  her  knee  modestly, 
with  an  air  that  took  me  mightily,  it  was  so 
full  of  distance  and  respect.  '  I  come  not  far, 
but  only  from  the  farm  town  of  Drumglass 
down  there  on  the  meadow's  edge.  Ye  are 
welcome  to  the  bit  piece;  I  am  as  glad  to  see 
ye  eat  it  as  of  a  sunny  morn  in  haytime.  You 
have  come  far,  and  a  brave  day's  wark  we  are 
expecting  from  you  this  Sabbath  day." 

Then,  as  was  my  duty,  I  rebuked  her  for 
looking  to  man  for  that  which  could  alone  come 
from  the  Master  and  Maker  of  man. 

She  listened  very  demurely,  with  her  eyes 
upon  the  silver  buckles  of  her  shoon,  which 
she  had  admiringly  placed  side  by  side  on  the 
grass,  when  she  set  herself  down  on  the  low 
boundary  wall  of  the  kirkyard. 

"  I  ken  I  am  too  young  and  light  and  foolish 
to  be  fit  company  even  for  a  young  minister," 
she  said,  and  there  was  a  blush  upon  her  cheek 
which  vexed  me,  though  it  was  bonny  enough 
to  look  upon. 

"  Nay,"  answered  I  quickly;  '  there  you 
mistake  me.  I  meant  no  such  thing,  bonnie 
lass.  We  are  all  both  fond  and  foolish,  minister 
and  maid."     (Well  might   I   say  it,   for — God 


HO  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

forgive  me! — at  that  very  moment  my  mind  ran 
more  on  how  the  lass  looked  and  on  the  way 
she  had  of  tapping  the  grass  with  her  foot  than 
on  the  solemn  work  of  the  day.) 

"  No,  no,"  she  interrupted,  hastily;  "  I  am 
but  a  silly  lass,  poor  and  ignorant,  and  you  do 
well  to  fault  me." 

Now  this  put  me  in  a  painful  predicament, 
for  I  still  held  in  my  hand  the  solitary  scraplet 
left  of  the  young  lass's  "  piece,"  and  I  must 
needs,  like  a  dull,  splenetic  fool,  go  on  fretting 
her  for  a  harmless  word. 

She  turned  away  her  head  a  little;  never- 
theless, I  was  not  so  ill-learned  in  the  ways  of 
maids  but  that  I  could  see  she  was  crying. 

"  What  is  your  name,  sweet  maid?  "  Tasked, 
for  my  heart  was  wae  that  I  had  grieved  her. 

•  She  did  not  answer  me  till  she  had  a  little 
recovered  herself. 

"  Jean  Gemmell,"  she  said,  at  last,  "  and  my 
father  is  the  tenant  of  Drumglass  up  by  there. 
He  is  an  elder,  and  will  be  here  by  kirk-time. 
The  session  is  holding  a  meeting  at  the  Manse." 

I  had  pulled  a  Bible  from  my  pocket  and 
was  thinking  of  my  sermon  by  this  time. 

Jean  Gemmell  rose  and  stood  a  moment 
picking  at  a  flower  by  the  wall. 


THE    LASS   IN    THE   KIRKYARD.  m 

"  My  father  will  be  on  your  side,"  she  said, 

slowly. 

"But,"  cried  I,  in  some  astonishment,  ''your 
father  has  not  yet  heard  me  preach." 

"  No  more  have  I,"  she  made  answer,  smil- 
ing on  me  with  her  eyes,  "  but,  nevertheless, 
my  father  will  be  on  your  side." 

And  she  moved  away,  looking  still  very 
kindly  upon  me. 

I  cannot  tell  whether  or  no  I  was  helped  by 
this  rencounter  in  my  conduct  of  the  worship 
that  day  in  the  parish  kirk  of  Balmaghie.  At 
any  rate,  I  went  down  and  walked  in  the  mead- 
ows by  the  side  of  Dee  Water  till  the  folk  gath- 
ered and  the  little  cracked  bell  began  to  clank 
and  jow  from  the  kirk  on  the  hill. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MY    LADY    OF    PRIDE. 

Within  the  kirk  of  Balmaghie  there  spread 
from  gable  to  gable  a  dim  sea  of  faces,  men 
standing  in  corners,  men  holding  by  windows, 
men  peering  in  at  the  low  doorway,  while  the 
women  cowered  upon  folded  plaids,  or  sat  close- 
ly wedged  together  upon  little  creepie  stools. 
So  great  a  multitude  had  assembled  that  day 
that  the  bairns  who  had  no  voice  in  the  -minis- 
terial call  were  in  danger  of  being  put  without 
to  run  wild  among  the  gravestones.  But  this 
I  forbade,  though  I  doubt  not  many  of  the 
youthful  vagabondage  would  have  preferred 
such  an  exodus  to  the  hot  and  crowded  kirk 
that  day  of  high  summer. 

I  was  well  through  my  discourse,  and  enter- 
ing upon  my  last  "  head,"  when  I  heard  a  stir 
at  the  door.  I  paused  somewhat  markedly  lest 
there  should  be  some  unseemly  disturbance. 
But  I  saw  only  a  great  burly  red-bearded  gen- 

112 


MY   LADY   OF    PRIDE. 


"3 


tleman  with  his  hair  a  little  touched  with  grey. 
The  men  about  the  porch  made  room  for  him 
with  mighty  deference. 

Clinging  to  his  arm  was  a  young  girl,  with 
a  face  lily-pale,  dark  eyes  and  wealth  of  hair. 
And  instead  of  the  bare  head  and  modest  snood 
of  the  country  maid,  or  the  mutch  of  the  douce 
matron,  there  was  upon  the  lady's  head  a  brave 
new-fashioned  hat  with  a  white  feather. 

I  knew  them  in  a  moment — Alexander  Gor- 
don of  Earlstoun  and  his  daughter  Mary. 

I  cannot  tell  if  my  voice  trembled,  or 
whether  I  showed  any  signs  of  the  abounding 
agitation  of  my  spirit.  But  certain  it  is  that 
for  a  space,  which  to  me  seemed  ages,  the  course 
of  my  thought  went  from  me.  I  spoke  words 
idle  and  empty,  and  it  was  only  by  the  strongest 
effort  of  will  that  I  recalled  myself  to  the  solemn 
matters  in  hand.  That  this  should  have  hap- 
pened in  my  trial  sermon  vexed  me  sore.  For 
at  that  time  I  knew  not  that  these  disturbances, 
so  great-seeming  to  the  speaker,  are  little,  if  at 
all,  observed  by  his  hearers,  who  are  ever  willing 
to  lay  the  blame  upon  their  own  lack  of  com- 
prehension rather  than  upon  their  instructor's 
want  of  clearness. 

But  the  moment  after,  with  a  strong  up- 


114  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

rising  of  my  spirit,  I  won  above  the  turmoil 
of  my  intellects,  and  ended  with  a  great  outgo- 
ing of  my  heart,  charging  those  before  me  to 
lay  aside  the  evils  of  their  life  and  enter  upon 
the  better  way  with  zeal  and  assured  confidence. 

And  seeing  that  the  people  were  much 
moved  by  my  appeal  I  judged  wise  to  let  them 
go  with  what  fire  of  God  they  had  gotten  yet 
burning  in  their  hearts.  I  closed  therefore 
quickly,  and  so  dismissed  the  congregation. 

Then,  when  I  came  down  to  go  from  the 
kirk,  the  people  were  already  dispersing.  The 
great  red-bearded  man  came  forward  and  put 
his  hand  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Young  sir,"  he  said,  "  it  is  true  that  ye 
have  left  the  hill-folk,  and  with  your  feet  have 
walked  in  devious  ways.  Notwithstanding, 
if  what  we  have  heard  to-day  be  your  message, 
we  shall  yet  have  you  on  your  knees  before  the 
Eldership  of  the  Societies.  For  the  heart  of 
the  man  who  can  thus  speak  is  with  us  of  the 
wilderness,  and  not  among  the  flesh-pots  of  an 
Erastian  Egypt." 

At  which  I  shook  my  head,  not  seeing  how 
true  his  words  were  to  prove,  nor  yet  how  soon 
the  Kirk  of  Scotland  was  to  bow  the  head, 
which  hitherto  had  only  bent  to  her  heavenly 


MY   LADY   OF   PRIDE. 


115 


Lord,  to  the  sceptre  of  clay  and  the  rule  of  a 
feckless  earthly  monarch. 

But  though  I  looked  wistfully  at  Mary  Gor- 
don, and  would  have  gone  forward  to  help  her 
upon  her  horse  where  it  stood  tethered  at  the 
kirk-liggate,  she  passed  me  by  as  though  she 
had  not  seen  me,  which  surely  was  not  well  done 
of  her.  Instead  she  beckoned  a  young  man 
from  the  crowd  in  the  kirkyard,  who  came  for- 
ward with  his  hat  in  his  hand  and  convoyed 
her  to  her  horse  with  a  privileged  and  courtly 
air.  Then  the  three  rode  off  together,  Alex- 
ander Gordon  turning  about  in  his  saddle  and 
crying  back  to  me  in  his  loud,  hearty  manner, 
"  Haste  ye  and  come  over  to  the  Earlstoun, 
and  we  will  yet  show  you  the  way  across  the 
Red  Sea  out  of  the  Land  of  Bondage." 

And  I  was  left  standing  there  sadly  enough, 
yet  for  my  life  I  cannot  tell  why  I  should  have 
been  sad.  For  the  folk  came  thronging  about 
me,  shaking  me  by  the  hand,  and  saying  that 
now  they  had  found  their  minister  and  would 
choose  me  in  spite  of  laird  or  prince  or  presby- 
tery. For  it  seems  that  already  some  of  my 
sayings  had  given  offence  in  high  quarters. 

Yet  it  was  as  if  I  heard  not  these  good  folk, 
for  (God  forgive  me)  even  at  that  solemn  mo- 


U6  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

ment  my  thoughts  were  circling  about  that 
proud  young  lass,  who  had  not  deigned  me  a 
look  even  in  the  hour  of  triumph,  but  had  rid- 
den so  proudly  away  with  the  man  who  was 
doubtless  her  lover. 

Thus  I  stood  awhile  dumbly  at  gaze,  with- 
out finding  a  word  to  say  to  any.  And  the  folk, 
thinking  that  the  spirit  of  the  spoken  Word  was 
yet  upon  me,  drew  off  a  little. 

Then  there  came  a  voice  in  mine  ear,  low 
and  persuasive,  that  awoke  me  from  my  dream. 

"  This  is  my  father,  who  would  bid  ye  wel- 
come, and  that  kindly,  to  his  house  of  Drum- 
glass." 

It  was  the  young  maid  whose  piece  I  had 
eaten  in  the  morning. 

The  feeling  in  my  heart  that  I  had  been 
shamed  and  slighted  by  Mary  Gordon  made 
Mistress  Jean  Gemmell's  word  sweet  and  agree- 
able to  me.  I  turned  me  about  and  found  my- 
self clasping  the  hands  of  a  rugged  old  man 
with  a  broad  and  honest  face,  who  took  snuff 
freely  with  one  hand,  while  he  shook  mine  with 
the  other. 

"  I'm  prood  to  see  ye,  young  sir,"  he  said, 
"  prood  to  see  ye!  My  dochter  Jean  here,  a 
feat  and  bonny  bit  lass,  has  telled  me  that  I  am 


MY   LADY   OF   PRIDE. 


117 


to  gie  ye  my  guid  word.  And  my  guid  word 
ye  shall  hae.  And  mony  o'  the  elders  and  kirk- 
members  owes  siller  to  auld  Drummie;  aye, 
aye,  and  they  shall  do  as  I  say  or  I  shall  ken 
the  reason " 

"  But,  sir,"  I  said  hastily,  "  I  desire  no  un- 
due influence  to  be  used.  Let  my  summons,  if 
it  come,  be  the  call  of  a  people  of  one  mind  con- 
cerning the  fitting  man  to  have  the  oversight 
of  them  in  the  things  of  the  spirit." 

"  Of  one  mind! ''  exclaimed  the  old  man, 
taking  snuff  more  freely  than  ever.  '  Ye  are 
dootless  a  maist  learned  and  college-bred  young 
lad,  with  rowth  o'  lear  and  lashin's  o'  grace, 
but  ye  dinna  ken  this  pairish  o'  Balmaghie  if 
ye  think  that  ye  can  ever  hae  the  folk  o'  wan 
mind.  Laddie,  the  thing's  no  possible.  There's 
as  mony  minds  in  Balmaghie  as  there's  folk  in 
it.  And  a  mair  unruly,  camsteery  pairish  there's 
no  between  Kirkmaiden  and  the  wild  Hieland 
border.  But  auld  Drummie  can  guide  them — 
ow,  aye,  auld  Drummie  can  work  them.  He 
can  turn  them  that  owes  him  siller  round  his 
finger,  and  they  can  leaven  the  congregation — 
hear  ye  that,  young  man!  " 

'  If  the  people  of  this  parish  desire  me  for 
their  minister,  they  will  send  me  the  call,"  an- 


Il8  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

swered  I,  pointedly.  For  these  things,  as  I 
have  ever  believed,  are  in  a  Higher  Hand. 

"  Doubtless,  doubtless,"  quoth  auld  Drum- 
mie;  "  but  the  Balmaghie  folk  are  none  of  the 
waur  o'  a  bit  spur  in  their  flank  like  a  reesty  * 
powny  that  winna  gang.  They  mind  a  min- 
ute's jag  frae  the  law  mair  nor  the  hale  grace  o' 
God  for  a  month,  and  mind  ye  that!  Gin  ye 
come  amang  us,  lad,  I'll  learn  ye  a  trick  or  twa 
aboot  the  folk  o'  Balmaghie  that  ye  will  be  the 
wiser  o\  Mind,  I  hae  been  here  a'  my  life,  and 
an  elder  o'  the  kirk  for  thirty  year!  ': 

'  I  am  much  indebted,  sir,  for  your  good  in- 
tentions, but " 

"  Nae  buts,"  cried  auld  Drummie.  "  I  hae 
my  dochter  Jean's  word  that  ye  are  a  braw  cal- 
lan  and  deserve  the  pairish,  and  the  pairish  ye 
shall  hae." 

"  I  am  much  indebted  to  your  daughter,"  I 
made  answer.  "  She  succoured  me  with  bread 
to  eat  this  morning,  when  in  the  kirkyard  I  was 
ready  to  faint  with  hunger.  Without  her  kind- 
ness I  know  not  how  I  would  have  come 
through  the  fatigues  of  this  day's  exercises." 

"  Ow,  aye,"  said  the  old  man;  "  that's  just 

*  Restive. 


MY   LADY   OF   PRIDE.  Hq 

like  my  dochter  Jean.  And  a  douce  ceevil  las- 
sock  she  is.  But  ye  should  see  my  ither  dochter 
afore  ye  craw  sae  croose  aboot  Jean." 

'  You  have  another  daughter?  "  I  said,  po- 
litely. 

"  Aye,"  he  cried,  with  enthusiasm.  "  Man, 
where  hae  ye  corned  frae  that  ye  haena  heard 
o'  Alexander-Jonita,  the  lass  wha  can  tame  a 
wild  stallion  that  horse-dealers  winna  tackle, 
and  ride  it  stride-leg  like  a  man.  There's  no' 
a  maiden  in  a'  the  country  can  haud  a  cannle  to 
Alexander-Jonita,  the  dochter  o'  Nathan  Gem- 
mell  of  Drumglass,  in  the  pairish  o'  Balmaghie." 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    TALE    OF    MESS    HAIRRY. 

So  the  service  being  ended  for  the  day,  I 
walked  quietly  over  to  Drumglass  with  Jean 
and  her  father.  There  I  found  a  house  well 
furnished,  oxen  and  kine  knee-deep  in  water, 
meadows,  pastures,  crofts  of  oats  and  bear  in 
the  hollows  about  the  door,  and  over  all  such 
an  air  of  bien  and  hospitable  comfort  that  the 
place  beckoned  me  to  abide  there. 

Nathan  Gemmell  went  beside  me,  regaling 
me  with  tales  of  the  ancient  days  spoken  in  the 
broad  and  honourable  sounding  speech  of  the 
province. 

"  Hear  ye,  laddie,"  he  said,  "  gin  ye  come  to 
the  pairish  o'  Balmaghie  ye  will  need  the  legs 
o'  a  racer  horse,  and  the  airms  o'  Brawny  Kim, 
the  smith  o'  Carlinwark.  Never  a  chiel  has 
been  fit  to  be  the  minister  o'  Balmaghie  since 
Auld  Mess  Hairry  died! 

120 


THE    TALE   OF    MESS   HAIRRY.  I2i 

'  He  was  a  man — losh  me,  but  he  was  a 
man! 

"  I  tell  ye,  sir,  this  pairish  needs  its  relee- 
gion  tightly  threshed  into  it  wi'  a  flail.  Sax 
change-houses  doon  there  hae  I  kenned  oot  o' 
seven  cot-houses  at  the  Kirk-clachan  o'  Shandk- 
foot,  and  a  swearin',  drinkin'  set  in  ilka  yin  o' 
them. 

"  And  siccan  reamin  swatrochs  of  Hollands 
an'  French  brandy,  lad!  Every  man  toomin' 
his  glass  and  cryin'  for  mair,  tossing  it  ower 
their  thrapples  hand  ower  fist,  as  hard  as  the 
sweatin'  landlords  could  open  the  barrels.  And 
the  ill  words  and  the  fechtin' — Lord,  callant,  ye 
never  heard  the  like!  They  tell  me  that  ye 
come  frae  the  Kells.  A  puir  feckless  lot  they 
are  in  the  Kells!  Nae  spirit  in  their  drink. 
Nae  power  or  variety  in  their  oaths  and  curs- 
ings! 

"But  Balmaghie! That  was  a  pairish' 

in  the  old  time,  till  Mess  Hairry  came  in  the 
days  after  John  Knox.  He  had  been  a  Papish 
priest  some-gate  till  he  had  turned  his  cassock 
alang  wi'  dour  black  Jock  o'  the  Hie  Kirk  o' 
Edinburgh.  But  Mess  Hairry  they  aye  caa'ed 
him,  for  a'  that.  And  there  were  some  that 
said  he  hadna  turned  that  very  far,  but  was  a 


122  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

Papish  as  great  as  ever  under  the  black  Geneva 
gown ! 

'  For  he  wad  whiles  gie  them  swatches  o' 
the  auld  ill-tongued  Laitin,  till  the  folk  kenned 
na  whether  they  werena  bein'  made  back  again 
into  limbs  o'  Rome,  and  their  leave  never  so 
much  as  speered. 

"  But  Pope  or  reform,  mass  or  sacrament, 
the  pairish  cared  no  a  bursten  chanter.  Doon 
at  the  clachans  the  stark  Hollands  flowed  like 
the  water  in  a  running  spate,  and  the  holy  day 
o'  the  Sabbath  was  their  head  time  for  the  evil 
wark — that  is,  till  Mess  Hairry  cam',  and  oh, 
but  he  was  the  maisterfu'  man,  as  my  auld 
grandfather  used  to  say.  What  did  he? — man, 
I  will  tell  ye.  And  let  it  be  a  lesson  to  ye, 
young  man,  gin  ye  come  to  the  pairish  o'  Bal- 
maghie.  The  folk  here  like  a  tairgin'  maisterfu' 
man.  Hark  ye  to  that!  They  canna  bide 
chiels  that  only  peep  and  mutter.  The  lads 
atween  the  waters  o'  Dee  and  Ken  tak'  a  man 
maistly  at  his  ain  valuation,  and  if  a  minister 
thinks  na  muckle  o'  himself — haith,  they  will 
e'en  jaloose  that  he  kens  best,  and  no  think 
muckle  o'  him  either! 

"  At  ony  rate,  the  drinking  gaed  on,  as  I 
was  tellin'  ye,  till  yae  day  it  cam'  to  a  head. 


THE   TALE   OF    MESS   HAIRRY.  12$ 

There  had  been  a  new  cargo  brought  into  the 
Briggus — it  was  afore  the  days  o'  the  ill-set 
customs  duties — foul  fa'  them  and  the  officers 
that  wad  keep  a  man  frae  brewin'  his  decent 
wormfu',  or  at  least  gar  him  tak'  the  bother  o' 
doin'  it  in  the  peat-stack  or  on  some  gairy-face 
instead  o'  openly  on  his  kitchen  floor. 

"  But  be  that  as  it  may,  it  was  when  Mess 
Hairry  was  at  his  fencing  prayer  in  the  kirk  on 
a  Sabbath,  as  it  micht  be  on  this  day  o'  June. 
He  was  just  leatherin'  aff  the  words  that  fast 
the  folk  couldna  tell  whether  he  is  giein'  them 
guid  Scots  or  ill-contrived  Laitin,  when  Mess 
Hairry  stops  and  cocks  his  lug  doon  the  kirk 
like  a  collie  that  hears  a  strange  fit  in  the 
loanin'. 

"  The  folk  listens,  too,  and  then  they  heard 
the  ower  word  o'  a  gye  coarse  sang  from  the 
clachan  doon  by,  and  the  Muckle  Miller  o' 
Barnboard,  Black  Coskery,  leadin'  it  wi'  a  voice 
like  the  thunder  on  Knockcannon. 

'  The  deil  cam  up  to  oor  loan  en' 
Smoored  wi'  the  reck  o'  his  black  den.' 

"  There  was  nae  mair  sermon  that  day. 
Mess  Hairry  gied  them  but  ae  word.  I  wasna 
there,  for  I  wasna  born;  but   the  granddaddy 


124 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


o'  me  was  then  a  limber  loon,  and  followed  after 
to  see  what  wad  befa'.  "  The  sermon  will  be 
applied  in  the  clachan  this  day  in  the  name  o' 
God  and  the  blessed  saints,'  cried  Mess  Hairry. 

"  So  the  auld  priest  claught  to  him  a  great 
oak  clickie  stick  he  had  brocht  frae  some  en- 
chanted wood,  and  doon  the  kirk  road  he  linkit 
wi'  strides  that  were  near  sax  foot  frae  tae  to 
heel.     Lord,  but  he  swankit  it  that  day. 

:<  And  ever  as  he  gaed  the  nearer,  louder  and 
louder  raise  Barnboard's  chorus,  '  The  deil  he 
cam'  to  our  loan  en'  ' — till  ye  could  hear  the 
verra  window-frames  dirl. 

'  But  Mess  Hairry  he  strode  like  the  angel 
o'  destruction  to  the  door  o'  the  first  hoose. 
The  bar  was  pushed,  for  it  was  sermon  time,  and 
they  had  that  muckle  respect.  But  the  noise 
within  was  fearsome.  Mess  Hairry  set  the 
broad  sole  o'  his  foot  to  the  hasp,  and,  man,  he 
drave  her  in  as  if  she  had  been  paper.  It  was 
a  low  door  as  a'  Galloway  doors  are.  The  min- 
ister dooked  doon  his  heid,  and  in  he  gaed. 
Nane  expected  ever  to  see  him  come  oot  in  life 
again,  and  a'  the  folk  were  thinking  on  the  dis- 
grace that  the  pairish  wad  come  under  for  killin' 
the  man  that  had  been  set  over  them  in  the 
things  o'  the  Lord.     For  bravely  they  kenned 


THE   TALE   OF    MESS   HAIRRY.  125 

that  Black  Coskery  wad  never  listen  to  a  word 
o'  advice,  but,  bein'  drunk  as  Dauvid's  soo,  wad 
strike  wi'  sword,  or  shoot  wi'  pistol  as  soon  as 
drink  another  gill. 

"  There  was  an  awesome  pause  after  Mess 
Hairry  gaed  ben. 

"  The  folk  they  stood  aboot  the  doors  and 
they  held  up  their  hands  in  peety.  '  Puir  man,' 
they  said; '  they  are  killin'  him  the  noo.  There's 
Black  Coskery  yellin'  at  the  rest  to  keep  him 
doon  and  finish  him  where  he  lies.  Puir  man, 
puir  man!  What  a  death  to  dee,  murdered  in 
a  change-hoose  on  the  Lord's  Day  o'  Rest, 
when  he  micht  hae  been  by  "  Thirdly  "  in  his 
sermon  and  clearin'  the  points  o'  doctrine  wi' 
neither  tinker  nor  miller  fashin'  him!  This 
comes  o'  meddlin'  wi'  the  cursed  drink.' 

"  Wilder  and  ever  wilder  grew  the  din.  It 
was  like  baith  Keltonhill  Fair  and  Tongland 
Sacrament  on  a  wet  day.  They  had  shut  the 
doors  when  the  priest  gaed  in  to  keep  him  close 
and  do  for  him  on  the  spot. 

"  My  grand-daddy  telled  me  that  there  was 
some  ga'ed  awa'  for  the  bier-trams  and  the 
mort-claiths  to  carry  the  corpse  to  the  manse 
to  be  ready  for  his  coffining! 

"  If  they  gang  on  like  that  there  will  no  be 


126  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

enough  left  o'  him  to  haud  thegither  till  they 
row  him  in  his  shroud!  Hear  till  the  wild 
renegades ! 

"  And  ever  the  thresh,  thresh  o'  terrible  blows 
was  heard,  yells  o'  pain  an'  mortal  fear. 

"'Mercy!  Mercy!  For  the  Lord's  dear 
sake,  hae  mercy ! ' 

"  The  door  burst  frae  its  hinges  and  fell  blaff 
on  the  road! 

"  '  They  are  bringin'  him  oot  noo.  Puir 
man,  but  he  will  be  an  awesome  sicht ! ' 

"  There  cam'  a  pour  o'  men  folk  frae  'tween 
the  lintels,  some  bareheaded,  wi'  the  red  bluid 
rinnin'  frae  aboot  their  brows,  some  wi'  the 
coats  fair  torn  frae  their  backs — every  man  o' 
them  wild  wi'  fear. 

"  '  They  hae  murdered  him!  Black  Coskery 
has  murdered  him,'  cried  the  folk  withoot. 
'  And  the  ither  lads  are  feared  o'  the  judgment 
for  the  bluid  o'  the  man  o'  God.' 

"  But  it  wasna  that — indeed,  far  frae  that. 
For  on  the  back  o'  the  men  skailin',  there  cam' 
oot  o'  the  cot-hoose  wha  but  Mess  Hairry,  and 
he  had  Black  Coskery  by  the  feet  trailin'  him 
heid  doon  oot  o'  the  door.  He  flang  him  in 
the  ditch  like  a  wat  dish-clout.  Syne  he  gied 
his  lang  black  coat  a  bit  hitch  aboot  his  loins 


THE   TALE   OF    MESS   HAIRRY.  127 

wi'  a  cord,  like  a  butcher  that  has  mair  calves 
to  kill.  Then  he  makes  for  the  next  change- 
hoose.  But  they  had  gotten  the  warnin'. 
They  never  waited  to  argue,  but  were  oot  o'  the 
window,  carrying  wi'  them  sash  and  a' — so  they 
say. 

"  And  so  even  thus  it  was  wi'  the  lave.  The 
grace  o'  God  was  triumphant  in  the  Kirk  Clach- 
an  o'  Ba'maghie  that  day. 

"  They  took  up  a'  that  was  mortal  o'  Black 
Coskery  to  the  Barnboard  on  the  bier  they  had 
gotten  ready  for  the  minister.  He  got  better, 
but  he  was  never  the  same  man  again ;  for  when- 
ever he  let  his  voice  be  heard,  or  got  decently 
fechtin'  drunk,  some  callant  wad  be  sure  to 
get  ahint  a  tree  and  cry,  '  Rin,  Coskery,  here's 
Mess  Hairry.'  He  couldna  bide  that,  but  cow- 
ered like  a  weel-lickit  messan  tyke. 

"  When  they  gaed  into  the  first  change- 
hoose,  they  say  that  the  floor  was  a  sicht  to 
see.  A'  thing  driven  to  kindlin'  wood;  for 
Mess  Hairry  had  never  waited  to  gie  a  word  o' 
advice,  but  had  keeled  ower  Black  Coskery  wi' 
ae  stroke  o'  his  oak  clickie  on  the  haffets. 
Then,  faith,  he  took  the  fechtin'  miller  by  the 
feet  and  swung  him  aboot  his  head  as  if  he  had 
been  a  flail. 


128  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

'  Never  was  there  sic  fechtin'  seen  in  the 
Stewartry.  The  men  fell  ower  like  nine-pins, 
and  were  richt  glad  to  crawl  to  the  door.  But 
for  a  judgment  on  them  it  was  close  steekit,  for 
they  had  shut  it  to  be  sure  o'  Mess  Hairry. 

'  They  were  far  ower  sure  o'  him,  and  they 
say  that  if  the  hinges  had  no'  given  way  it 
micht  hae  been  the  waur  for  some  o'  them. 

"  And  that  was  the  way  that  Mess  Hairry 
preached  the  Gospel  in  Ba'maghie.  Ow,  it's 
him  that  had  the  poo'er — at  least,  that's  what 
my  granddaddy  telled  me. 

"  Ow,  aye'  Ba'maghie  needs  a  maisterfu' 
man.  But  we'll  never  see  the  like  o'  Mess 
Hairry — rest  his  soul.  He  was  indeed  a  mir- 
acle o'  grace." 


CHAPTER  XV. 

ALEXANDER-JONITA. 

We  had  been  steadily  approaching  the  farm- 
steading  of  Drumglass,  where  it  sits  pleasantly 
under  the  hill  looking  down  over  the  water- 
meadows,  the  while  Nathan  Gemmell  told  me 
his  grandfather's  tale  showing  how  a  man  ought 
to  rule  the  parish  of  Balmaghie. 

We  had  gotten  almost  to  the  door  of  the 
farm  when  we  saw  a  horse  and  rider  top  the 
heathery  fell  to  the  left,  and  sweep  down  upon 
us  at  a  tearing  gallop. 

The  old  man,  hearing  the  clatter  of  stones, 
turned  quickly. 

"  Alexander-Jonita!  "  he  exclaimed,  shaking 
his  head  with  fond  blame  towards  the  daring 
rider,  "  I  declare  that  lassie  will  break  neck- 
bone  some  o'  thae  days.  And  that  will  be 
seen!  " 

With    dark    hair   flying   in    the    wind,    eyes 

gleaming  like   stars,   short   kirtle   driven   back 

129 


130 


THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 


from  her  knees  by  the  rush  of  the  horse's  stride, 
came  a  girl  of  eighteen  or  twenty  on  the  back 
of  a  haltered  but  saddle-free  mare. 

Whether,  as  her  father  had  boasted,  the  girl 
was  riding  astride,  or  whether  she  sat  in  the 
new-fangled  way  of  the  city  ladies,  I  cannot 
venture  to  decide.  For  with  a  sharp  turn  of 
the  hempen  bridle  she  reined  her  beast  within 
a  few  yards  of  us,  and  so  had  leaped  nimbly  to 
the  ground  before  the  startled  senses  could 
take  in  all  the  picture. 

'  Lassie,"  cried  the  elder,  with  a  not  intol- 
erant reproof  in  his  tones,  "  where  hae  ye  been 
that  the  kirk  and  the  service  of  God  saw  ye 
not  this  day?  " 

The  girl  came  fearlessly  forward,  looking 
me  directly  in  the  yes.  The  reins  were  yet  in 
her  hand. 

'  Father,"  she  said,  gently  enough,  but 
without  looking  at  him,  "  I  had  the  marches  to 
ride,  the  '  aval '  sheep  to  turn,  the  bitten  ewes 
to  dress  with  tar,  the  oxen  to  keep  in  bound, 
the  horses  to  water;  besides  which,  Jean  wanted 
my  stockings  and  Sunday  gear  to  be  braw  the 
day  at  the  kirk.  So  I  had  e'en  to  bide  at 
hame!" 

"  Thing     shame     o'     yoursel',     Alexander- 


ALEXANDER-JONITA.  131 

Jonita!"  cried  her  father,  "ye  are  your  mith- 
er's  dochter.  Ye  tak'  not  after  the  douce  ways 
o'  your  faither.  Spite  o'  a'  excuses,  ye  should 
hae  been  at  the  kirk." 

"  Is  this  the  young  minister  lad?  "  said  Al- 
exander-Jonita,  looking  at  me  more  with  the 
assured  direct  gaze  of  a  man  than  with  the  cus- 
tomary bashfulness  of  a  maid.  Singularly  fear- 
less and  forthlooking  was  her  every  glance. 

"  Even  so,"  said  her  father,  "  the  lad  has 
spoken  weel  this  day! ': 

She  looked  me  through  and  through,  till  I 
felt  the  manhood  in  me  stir  to  vexation,  not 
with  shyness  alone,  but  for  very  shame  to  be 
thus  outfaced  and  made  into  a  bairn. 

She  spoke  again,  still,  however,  keeping  her 
eyes  on  me. 

"  I  am  no  kirk-goer — no,  nor  yet  great  kirk- 
lover.  But  I  ken  a  man  when  I  see  him,"  said 
the  strange  maid,  holding  out  her  hand  frankly. 
And,  curiously  enough,  I  took  it  with  an  odd 
sense  of  gratitude  and  comradeship. 

"  The  kirk,"  said  I,  "  is  not  indeed  all  that 
it  might  be,  but  the  kirk  and  conventicle  alike 
are  the  gathering  places  of  those  that  love  the 
good  way.  We  are  not  to  forsake  the  assem- 
bling of  ourselves  together." 


I32  THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 

'  Even  so,  minister!  "  she  said,  with  some 
sudden  access  of  gravity,  "  and  this  day  I  have 
been  preaching  the  Gospel  to  the  sheep  and  the 
oxen,  the  kye  and  the  horse-beasts  within  the 
bounds  of  my  parish,  while  ye  spake  your  good 
word  to  human  creatures  that  were  maybe 
somewhat  less  grateful." 

'  The  folk  to  whom  I  spake  had  immortal 
souls,"  said  I,  a  little  indignant  to  be  thus 
bearded  by  a  lassie. 

"  And  how,"  she  retorted,  turning  on  me 
quick  as  a  fire-flash,  "  ken  ye  that  the  beasts 
have  none,  or  that  their  spirit  goeth  downward 
into  the  earth?  Have  they  not  bodies  also  and 
gratitude?  There  was  a  sore  distressed  sheep 
this  morning  at  Tornorrach  that  looked  at  me 
first  with  eyes  that  spake  a  prayer.  But  after 
I  had  cleansed  and  dressed  the  hurt,  it  breathed 
a  benediction,  sweet  as  any  said  in  the  Kirk  of 
Balmaghie  this  day!  " 

'  Nevertheless  it  was  for  men  and  women, 
perishing  in  sin,  that  Christ  died!  "  I  persisted, 
not  willing  to  be  silenced. 

'  How  ken  ye  that?  "  she  said;  "  did  not  the 
same  Lord  make  the  sheep  on  the  hills  and  the 
kye  in  the  byres?  Will  He  that  watches  the 
sparrow  fall  think  it  wrong  to  lift  a  sheep  out 


ALEXANDER-JONITA.  133 

of  a  pit  on  the  Sabbath?  The  Pharisees  are 
surely  not  all  dead  to  this  day!  " 

"  E'en  let  her  alane,  ye  will  be  as  wise,"  said 
her  father;  "  she  has  three  words  to  every  one 
that  are  given  to  men  o'  sense.  But  she  is 
withal  a  good  lass  and  true  of  speech.  Alex- 
ander-Jonita,  stable  your  beast  and  come  ben 
to  wait  on  the  minister  in  the  ben  room."  * 

The  girl  moved  away,  leading  her  steed,  and 
her  father  and  I  went  on  to  the  house  of  Drum- 
glass. 

When  we  entered  the  table  was  not  yet  set, 
and  there  were  no  preparations  for  a  meal.  Na- 
than Gemmell  looked  about  him  with  a  certain 
severe  darkening  expression,  which  told  of  a 
temper  not  yet  altogether  brought  into  obedi- 
ence to  the  spirit. 

"Jean — Jean  Gemmell! ':  he  cried,  "  come 
hither,  lass! ':  He  went  and  knocked  loudly  at 
the  chamber  door,  which  opened  at  one  side  of 
the  kitchen. 

"  Wherefore  have  ye  not  set  the  table  for 
the  meal  of  meat?"  he  asked,  frowning  upon 
the  maiden  whom  I  had  first  seen.  She  stood 
with  meek  and  smiling  face  looking  at  us  from 


*  Ben  room — i.  e.,  the  inner  room  or  guest  chamber. 


134  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

the  lintel.  Her  face  was  shining  and  her  hair 
very  becomingly  attired,  though  (as  I  observed) 
in  a  different  fashion  from  what  it  had  been  in 
the  morning  by  the  kirk-gate  when  she  gave 
me  her  piece  to  stay  my  hunger. 

"  I  have  been  praying  upon  my  knees  for  a 
blessing  upon  the  work  of  this  day  in  the  kirk," 
said  Jean  Gemmell,  looking  modestly  down, 
"  and  I  waited  for  Alexander-Jonita  to  help  me 
to  lay  the  table." 

'  Were  ye  not  vainly  adoring  your  frail  tab- 
ernacle? It  seems  more  likely!"  said  her  fa- 
ther, somewhat  cruelly  as  I  thought. 

Then  she  looked  once  across  at  me,  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears,  so  that  I  was  vividly  sorry 
for  the  maid.  But  she  turned  away  from  her 
father's  reproof  without  a  word. 

'  We  can  well  afford  to  wait.  There  is  no 
haste,"  I  said,  to  ease  her  hurt  if  so  I  could; 
"  this  good  kind  maiden  gave  me  all  she  had 
this  morning  in  the  kirk-yard,  or  I  know  not 
how  I  should  have  sped  at  the  preaching  work 
this  day!" 

Jean  Gemmell  paused  half-way  across  the 
floor,  as  her  father  was  employed  looking  out 
of  the  little  window  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  Alex- 
ander-Jonita.    She  lifted  her  eyes  again  to  mine 


ALEXANDER-JONITA.  I35 

with  a  look  of  sweet  and  tender  gratitude  and 
understanding  which  more  than  thanked  me 
for  the  words  I  had  spoken. 

At  that  moment  in  came  Alexander- Jonita 
with  a  free  swing  like  some  stripling  gallant  of 
high  degree.  I  own  that  even  at  that  time  I 
liked  to  see  her  walk.  She,  at  least,  was  no 
proud  dame  like — well,  like  one  whose  eyes 
abode  with  me,  and  the  thought  of  whose 
averted  gaze  (God  pardon  me!)  lay  heavy  about 
my  heart  when  I  ought  to  have  been  thinking 
of  other  and  higher  things. 

Alexander-Jonita  waited  for  no  bidding,  but 
after  a  glance  which  took  in  at  once  the  empty 
board  and  Jean's  smooth  dress  and  well-ordered 
hair,  she  hasted  to  spread  a  white  cloth  on  the 
table,  a  coverture  bleached  and  fine  as  it  had 
been  laundered  for  a  prince's  repast.  Then  to 
cupboard  and  aumrie  she  went,  bringing  down 
and  setting  in  order  oaten  bread,  sour-milk 
scones  of  honest  crispness,  dried  ham-of-mut- 
ton  which  she  sliced  very  thin  before  serving — 
the  rarest  dainty  of  Galloway,  and  enough  to 
make  a  hungry  man's  mouth  water  only  to 
think  upon. 

Then  came  in  Jean  Gemmell,  who  made  shift 
to  help  daintily  as  she  found  occasion.     But, 

IO 


136  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

listening  over-closely  to  the  converse  of  her  fa- 
ther and  myself,  it  chanced  that  she  let  fall  a 
platter,  which  breaking,  set  her  sister  in  a  quick 
high  mood.  So  that  she  ordered  the  lass  to  go 
and  sit  down  while  folk  with  hands  did  the 
work. 

Now  this  somewhat  vexed  me,  for  I  could 
see  by  the  modest,  covert  way  the  girl  glanced 
up  at  me  as  she  set  herself  obediently  down  in 
the  low  window  seat  that  her  heart  was  full  to 
the  overflowing.  Also  something  in  the  wild 
girl's  tone  mettled  me. 

So  I  said  to  Jean  across  the  kitchen,  "  Be  of 
good  cheer,  maiden.  There  was  one  at  Bethany 
who  waited  not,  but  yet  chose  the  better  part." 

"Aye,"  cried  Alexander-Jonita  as  she  "turned 
from  the  cupboard  with  a  plate  of  butter,  "  say 
ye  so?  I  ever  kenned  that  you  young  minis- 
ters thought  excellent  things  of  yourselves,  but 
I  dreamed  not  that  ye  went  as  far  as  that." 

Whereat  I  blushed  hotly,  to  think  that  I 
had  unwittingly  compared  myself  to  One  who 
sat  with  Martha  and  Mary  in  the  house.  And 
after  that  I  was  dumb  before  the  sharp-tongued 
lass  all  the  time  of  eating.  But  under  the  table 
Jean  Gemmell  put  her  hand  a  moment  on  mine, 
seeing  me  fallen  silent  and  downcast. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE    COREIES    AT    THE    FEAST. 

Now  when  after  all  the  call  came  for  me 
to  be  placed  minister  of  the  parish,  and  I  was 
placed  there  with  the  solemn  laying  on  of  the 
hands  of  the  Presbytery,  I  thought  in  my  folly 
as  every  young  minister  does,  that  the  striv- 
ings of  my  life  had  come  to  an  end.  Whereas, 
had  I  known  it,  they  were  but  beginning.  For 
the  soil  was  being  fattened  for  the  crop  of  trou- 
bles I  was  to  harvest  into  a  bitter  garner  ere 
many  years  had  come  and  gone. 

Strait  and  onerous  were  the  charges  the  rev- 
erend brethren  laid  upon  me.  I  had  been  of  the 
Hill-folk  in  my  youth.  So  more  than  once  I 
was  reminded.  It  might  be  that  I  was  not  yet 
purged  of  that  evil  taint.  Earnestness  in  la- 
bour, sanctity  of  life,  would  not  avail  alone.  I 
must  keep  me  in  subjection  to  the  powers  that 
be.     I    must    purge   myself   of   partial    counsel 

and    preach    the    Gospel    in    moderation — with 

137 


138  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

various  other  charges  which  I  pass  over  in 
silence. 

Yet  all  the  while  I  had  the  conceit  within 
me  that  I  knew  better  than  these  men  could 
tell  me  what  I  had  come  to  Balmaghie  to  per- 
form. I  minded  me  every  day  of  the  Bennan 
top  and  of  the  men  that  had  been  slain  on  the 
heather — specially  on  the  poor  lad  in  the  brown 
coat.  And  I  was  noways  inclined  to  be  over- 
lenient  with  those  who  had  wrought  the  dam- 
age, nor  yet  with  those  who  had  stood  by  with 
their  hands  in  their  pockets  and  whistled  while 
the  deed  was  being  done. 

After  the  ordination,  as  was  the  custom, 
there  was  a  great  dinner  spread  in  a  long  tent 
set  up  by  the  Kirk  Clachan  of  Shankfoot. 

Here  the  Presbytery,  the  elders  and  such  of 
the  leading  men  of  the  parish  as  were  free  of 
scandal  (few  enough  there  were  of  these!)  were 
entertained  at  the  expense  of  the  session. 

One  there  was  among  the  brethren  who  had 
watched  me  keenly  all  the  day — Cameron,  the 
minister  of  Kirkcudbright,  an  unctuously  smil- 
ing man,  but  with  a  sidelong  and  dubious  eye 
that  could  not  meet  yours.  He  had  the  repute 
of  great  learning,  and  was,  besides,  of  highest 
consideration  among  the  members,  because  he 


THE   CORBIES   AT   THE    FEAST. 


139 


was  reckoned  to  be  the  blood  brother  of  the 
famous  Richard  Cameron,  who  died  at  Arys- 
moss  in  the  year  of  1680,  and  whether  that  were 
so  or  no,  at  least  he  did  not  deny  it. 

As  for  me,  I  talked  mostly  to  a  little  wiz- 
ened, hump-shouldered  man,  with  a  hassock  of 
black  hair  which  came  down  over  his  forehead, 
and  great  eyes  that  looked  out  on  either  side 
of  a  sharp  hawk's  nose.  A  peeping,  peering, 
birdlike  man  I  found  him  to  be — one  Telfair  of 
Rerrick,  the  great  authority  in  the  South  Coun- 
try on  ghosts  and  all  manifestations  of  the  devil. 
'  Methinks  the  spirit  of  evil  is  once  more 
abroad,"  I  heard  Telfair  say  in  a  shrill  falsetto 
to  his  next  neighbour  as  they  sat  at  meat. 
'  Rerrick  hath  seen  nothing  like  it  since  the 
famous  affair  of  the  Ringcroft  visitation,  so  fully 
recounted  in  my  little  pamphlet — which,  as  you 
are  aware,  has  run  through  several  editions,  not 
alone  in  Scotland,  but  also  among  the  wise  and 
learned  folk  of  London.  The  late  King  even 
ordered  a  copy  for  himself,  and  was  pleased  to 
say  that  he  had  never  read  anything  like  it  in 
all  his  life  before;  and  by  the  grace  of  God  he 
never  would  again.  Was  not  that  a  compli- 
ment from  so  great  a  prince?  " 

"  A  compliment  indeed,"  cried  Cameron  of 


140  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

Kirkcudbright,  nodding  his  head  ironically,  yet 
watching-  me  all  the  time  as  I  talked  with  Na- 
than Gemmell  of  Drumglass;  "  but  what  is  this 
new  portent?  " 

Tis  but  the  matter  of  a  bairn-child  near 
the  village  of  Orraland,  which,  as  all  the  world 
knows,  is  the  heart  of  my  parish.  A  bairn, 
the  son  of  very  respectable  folk,  looking  out 
upon  the  moon,  had  a  vision  of  a  man  in  red 
apparel  cutting  the  moon  in  two  with  a  sword 
of  flame,  whereat  the  child  screamed  and  ran  in 
to  its  mother  to  tell  the  marvel.  And  as  soon 
as  they  came  to  me,  I  said:  'There  is  that  to 
be  done  to-day  which  shall  cut  the  Kirk  of  God 
in  twain  within  the  bounds  of  this  Presbytery.'  " 

'  Truly  a  marvellous  child,  and  of  insight 
justly  prophetic!'  said  Cameron,  again  nod- 
ding as  he  went  about  the  ordering  of  his  din- 
ner and  calling  the  waiting  folk  to  be  quick  and 
set  clean  platters  before  the  hungry  Presbyters. 

"  Now,"  said  Telfair,  looking  straight  at  me, 
"  there  hath  nothing  happened  this  week  in  the 
Presbytery  save  the  ordaining  of  this  young 
man.  Think  ye  that  through  him  there  will 
come  this  breaking  asunder  of  the  Kirk?  " 

Cameron  smiled  sardonically. 

"  How  can  ye   suppose   it   for  a  moment? 


THE   CORBIES   AT   THE    FEAST. 


141 


Mr.  MacClellan  is  a  youth  of  remarkable  prom- 
ise and  rumour.  We  have,  indeed,  yet  to  learn 
whether  there  be  aught  behind  this  sound  and 
show  of  religion  and  respect  for  the  authority 
of  the  Kirk." 

All  this  time  Drumglass  was  pouring  forth 
without  stint  his  joy  at  my  settlement  among 
them. 

"  Be  never  feared  for  the  face  o'  man,  young 
sir,"  he  cried.  "  Be  bold  to  declare  what  ye 
think  and  believe,  and  gif  ye  ken  what  ye  want 
and  earnestly  pursue  it,  tak'  auld  Drumglass' 
word  for  it,  there  are  few  things  that  ye  may 
not  attain  in  this  world." 

At  long  and  last  the  clay  came  to  an  end. 
The  ministers  of  the  Presbytery  one  by  one 
took  horse  or  ferry  and  so  departed.  I  alone 
returned  with  Nathan  Gemmell  over  to  the 
house  of  Drumglass.  For  I  was  deadly  wearied, 
and  the  voice  of  Nathan  uplifted  by  the  way  to 
tell  of  old  things  was  like  the  pleasant  lappering 
of  water  on  the  sides  of  a  boat  in  which  one 
rocks  and  dreams.  Indeed,  I  was  scarce  con- 
scious of  a  word  he  said,  till  in  the  gloom  of  the 
trees  and  the  creamy  evening  light,  we  met  the 
two  lasses,  Jean  and  AlexandCr-Jonita  walking 
arm  in  arm. 


142 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


As  we  came  within  the  shadow,  they  two 
divided  the  one  from  the  other,  the  wild  lass 
going  to  her  father's  side,  Jean  being  left  to 
come  to  mine. 

"  I  saw  you  not  at  the  ordination,  Alexan- 
der-Jonita!"  said  her  father. 

"  No,"  she  answered  sharply,  "  it  was  a 
brave  day  for  the  nowt  to  stray  broadcast  over 
the  fell,  and  there  was  never  a  man,  woman,  or 
bairn  about  the  house.  Well  might  I  remain 
to  keep  the  evil-doers  from  the  doors." 

I  felt  a  soft  hand  touch  mine  as  if  by  acci- 
dent, and  a  low  voice  whispered  close  to  my  ear. 
'  But  I  was  there.  I  watched  it  all,  and 
when  I  saw  you  were  kneeling  before  them  all 
with  the  hands  of  the  ministers  upon  your  head, 
I  had  almost  swooned  away!  " 

The  soft  hand  was  fully  in  mine  now.  I 
was  not  conscious  of  having  taken  it,  but  never- 
theless it  lay  trembling  a  little  and  yet  nestling 
contentedly  in  my  palm.  And  because  I  was 
tired  and  the  day  had  been  a  labour  and  a  bur- 
den to  me,  I  was  comforted  that  thus  Jean's 
hand  abode  in  mine. 

I  pressed  it  and  said,  perhaps  more  gently 
than  I  ought,  "  Little  one,  I  am  glad  you  were 
there.      But   the  work  is  a  great  one  for  so 


THE   CORBIES   AT   THE   FEAST.  143 

young  and  unworthy  as  I.  It  presses  hard  upon 
me!" 

"  But  you  have  good  friends,"  said  Jean, 
"  friends  that — that  think  of  you  always  and 
wish  you  well." 

We  had  fallen  a  little  way  behind,  and  I 
could  hear  Alexander-Jonita  in  her  high  clear 
voice  telling  her  father  how  she  had  found  a 
sick  sheep  on  the  Duchrae  Craigs  and  carried 
it  all  the  way  home  on  her  back. 

"What,"  cried  her  father,  "  ower  the  heather 
and  the  moss-hags?  " 

"  Aye,"  she  answered,  as  if  the  thing  were 
nothing,  "  and  what  is  more  the  poor  beast  is 
like  to  live  and  thrive." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    BONNY    LASS    OF    EARLSTOUN. 

So  I  was  settled  in  my  parish,  which  was  a 
good  one  as  times  went.  The  manse  had  re- 
cently been  put  in  order.  It  was  a  pleasant 
stone  house  which  sat  in  the  bieldy  hollow  be- 
neath the  Kirk  Knowe  of  Balmaghie.  Snug 
and  sheltered  it  lay,  an  encampment  of  great 
beeches  sheltering  it  from  the  blasts,  and  the 
green-bosomed  hills  looking  down  upon  it  with 
kindly  tolerant  silence. 

The  broad  Dee  Water  floated  silently  by, 
murmuring  a  little  after  the  rains;  mostly  silent 
however — the  water  lapping  against  the  reeds 
and  fretting  the  low  cavernous  banks  when  the 
wind  blew  hard,  but  on  the  whole  slipping  past 
with  a  certain  large  peace  and  attentive  state- 
liness. 

My    brother    Hob    abode   with   me    in    the 

manse  of  Balmaghie  to  be  my  man.     It  was 

great  good  fortune  thus  to  keep  him;  and  in 
144 


THE   BONNY   LASS   OF   EARLSTOUN. 


145 


the  coming  troublous  days  I  ken  not  what  I 
should  have  done  without  his  good  counsel  and 
strongly  willing  right  hand.  My  father  and 
mother  came  over  to  see  me  on  the  old  pony 
from  Ardarroch,  my  mother  riding  on  a  pillion 
behind  my  father,  and  both  of  them  ready  on 
the  sign  of  the  least  brae  to  get  off  and  walk 
most  of  the  way,  with  the  bridle  over  my  fa- 
ther's arm,  while  my  mother  discoursed  of  the 
terrible  thing  it  was  to  have  two  of  your  sons 
so  far  from  home,  strangers,  as  it  were,  in  a 
strange  land. 

It  had  not  seemed  so  terrible  to  her  when 
we  went  to  Edinburgh,  both  because  she  had 
never  been  to  the  city  herself,  and  never  in- 
tended to  go.  On  these  occasions  Hob  and  I 
had  passed  out  of  sight  along  the  green  road 
to  Balmaclellan  on  the  way  to  Minnyhive, 
and  there  was  an  end  of  us  till  the  spring,  save 
for  the  little  presents  which  came  by  the  carrier, 
and  the  leters  I  had  to  write  every  fortnight. 

But  this  parish  of  Balmaghie!  It  was  a  far 
cry  and  a  coarse  road,  said  my  mother,  and  she 
was  sure  that  we  both  took  our  lives  in  our 
hands  each  time  that  we  went  across  its  un- 
canny pastures. 

Nevertheless,  once  there,  she  did  not  halt 


I46  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

nor  slacken  till  she  had  taken  in  hand  the  fur- 
niture and  plenishing  of  the  manse,  and  brought 
some  kind  of  order  out  of  the  piled  and  tortured 
confusion,  which  had  been  the  best  that  Hob 
and  I  could  attain. 

'  Keep  us,  laddies!  "  she  cried,  after  the  first 
hopeless  look  at  our  handiwork.  '  I  canna 
think  on  either  o'  ye  takin'  a  wife.  Yet  I'm 
feared  that  a  wife  ye  maun  get  atween  ye.  For 
I  canna  thole  to  let  ye  gang  on  this  wild  gate, 
wi'  the  minister's  meal  o'  meat  to  ready,  and 
only  gomeril  Hob  to  do  it." 

'  Then  ye'll  let  Anna  come  to  bide  with  us 
for  a  while,  if  ye  are  so  vexed  for  us,"  I  said, 
to  try  her. 

"  Na,  indeed,  I  canna  do  that.  Anna  is 
needed  at  hame  where  she  is.  There's  your 
faither  now — he's  grown  that  bairnly  he  thinks 
there  can  be  nae  guid  grass  in  the  meadow  that 
Anna's  foot  treads  not  on.  The  hens  wouldna 
lay,  the  kye  wouldna  let  doon  their  milk  withoot 
Anna.  Ardarroch  stands  on  the  braeface  be- 
cause 'tis  anchored  doon  wi'  Anna.  Saw  ye 
ever  sic  a  fyke  made  aboot  a  lass?  ,; 

"  Quintin  has!  "  said  Hob  with  intention,  for 
which  I  did  not  thank  him. 

"What!"  cried  my  mother,  instantly  tak- 


THE   BONNY   LASS   OF   EARLSTOUN. 


147 


ing  fire,  "  hae  some  o'  the  impudent  queans  o' 
Balmaghie  been  settin'  their  caps  at  him  al- 
ready? " 

"  There  ye  are,  mither,"  said  Hob,  '  ye 
speak  bravely  aboot  Ouintin  gettin'  married. 
But  as  soon  as  we  speak  aboot  ony  lass — plaff, 
ye  gang  up  like  a  waft  o'  tow  thrown  in  the 
fire." 

'  I  wad  like  to  see  the  besom  that  wad  make 
up  to  my  Ouintin!  "  said  my  mother,  her  indig- 
nation beginning  to  simmer  down. 

"  Then  come  over  to  the  Drum "  he  was 

beginning. 

"  Hob,"  said  I,  sternly,  "  that  is  enough." 

And  when  I  spoke  to  him  thus  Hob  was 
amenable  enough. 

"  Aweel,  mither!"  continued  Hob  in  an  in- 
jured tone,  "  ye  speak  aboot  mairrying.  Quin- 
tin  there,  ye  say,  is  to  get  mairried.  But  how 
can  he  get  mairried  withoot  a  lass  that  is  fond 
o'  him?  It  juist  canna  be  done,  at  least  no  in 
the  parish  o'  Balmaghie." 

It  was  my  intent  to  accompany  my  father 
and  mother  back  to  Ardarroch  in  name  of 
an  escort,  but,  in  truth,  chiefly  that  I  might 
accept  the  invitation  of  the  laird  of  Earlstoun 
and    once    more    see    Mary    Gordon,    the    lass 


148 


THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 


whose  image  I  had  carried  so  long  on  my 
heart. 

For,  strange  as  it  may  appear,  when  she 
went  forth  from  the  kirk  that  day  she  left  a 
look  behind  her  which  went  straight  to  my 
heart.  It  was  like  a  dart  thrown  at  random 
which  sticks  and  is  lost,  yet  inly  rankles  and 
will  not  let  itself  be  forgotten. 

I  tried  to  shut  the  desire  of  seeing  her 
again  out  of  my  heart.  But  do  what  I  could 
this  was  not  to  be.  It  would  rise,  coming  be- 
tween me  and  the  very  paper  on  which  I  wrote 
my  sermon,  before  I  began  to  learn  to  mandate. 
When  the  sun  looked  over  the  water  in  the 
morning  and  shone  on  the  globed  pearls  of  dew 
in  the  hollow  palms  of  the  broad  dockleaves  on 
the  gracious  clover  blooms,  and  on  the  bending 
heads  of  the  spiked  grasses,  I  rejoiced  to  think 
that  he  shone  also  on  Earlstoun  and  the  sunny 
head  of  a  fairer  and  more  graceful  flower. 

God  forgive  a  sinful  man!  At  these  times 
I  ought  to  have  been  thinking  of  something 
else.  But  when  a  man  carries  such  an  earthly 
passion  in  his  heart,  all  the  panoply  of  heavenly 
love  is  impotent  to  restrain  thoughts  that  fly 
swift  as  the  light  from  hilltop  to  hilltop  at  the 


sun-nsmg. 


THE    BONNY    LASS    OF    EARLSTOUN. 


I49 


So  I  went  home  for  a  day  or  two  to  Ardar- 
roch,  where  with  a  kind  of  gratitude  I  stripped 
my  coat  and  fell  to  the  building  of  dykes  about 
the  home  park,  and  the  mending  of  mangers 
and  corn-chests  with  hammer  and  nail,  till  my 
mother  remonstrated.  '  Quintin,  are  ye  not 
ashamed,  you  with  a  parish  of  hungry  souls  to 
be  knockin'  at  hinges  and  liftin'  muckle  stanes 
on  the  hillsides  o'  Ardarroch?  " 

But  Anna  kept  close  to  me  all  these  days, 
understanding  my  mood.  We  had  always  loved 
one  another,  she  and  I.  I  had  used  to  say  that 
it  was  Anna  who  ought  to  have  been  the  minis- 
ter; for  her  eyes  were  full  of  a  fair  and  gracious 
light,  the  gentle  outshining  of  a  true  spirit  with- 
in. And  as  for  me,  after  I  had  been  with  her 
awhile,  in  that  silence  of  sympathy,  I  was  a  bet- 
ter and  a  stronger  man — at  least,  one  less  unfit 
for  holy  office. 

Right  gladly  would  I  have  taken  Anna  back 
with  me  to  the  manse  of  Bahnaghie,  but  I  knew 
well  that  she  would  not  go. 

"Quintin,"  she  was  wont  to  say,  "  our  far- 
ther and  mither  are  not  so  young  as  they  once 
were.  My  faither  forgets  things  whiles,  and 
the  herd  lads  are  not  to  trust  to.  David  there 
is  for  ever  on  the  trot  to  this  farm-town  and 


i5o 


THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 


that  other — to  the  clachan  o'  St.  John,  to  the 
New  Town  of  Galloway,  or  to  Balmaclellan — 
'tis  all  one  to  him.  He  cannot  bide  at  home 
after  the  horses  are  out  of  the  collar  and  the 
chain  drops  from  the  swingle-tree  into  the  fur- 


row." 


"  But  some  day  ye  will  find  a  lad  for  your- 
self, Anna,  and  then  you  will  also  be  leaving  Ar- 
darroch  and  the  auld  folk  behind  ye." 

My  sister  smiled  a  quiet  smile  and  her  eyes 
were  far  away. 

"  Maybe — maybe,"  she  said,  temperately, 
"  but  that  day  is  not  yet." 

4  Has  never  a  lad  come  wooin'  ye,  Anna? 
Was  there  not  Johnny  of  Ironmacanny,  Peter 
Tait  frae  the  Bogue,  or " 

:'  Aye,"  said  Anna,  "  they  cam'  and  they 
gaed  away  to  ither  lasses  that  were  readier  to 
loe  them.  For  I  never  saw  a  lad  yet  that  I 
could  like  as  well  as  my  great  silly  brother  who 
should  be  thinking  more  concerning  his  sermon- 
making  than  about  putting  daft  thoughts  into 
the  heads  of  maidens." 

After  this  there  was  silence  between  us  for 
a  while.  We  had  been  sitting  in  the  barn  with 
both  doors  open.  The  wide  arch  to  the  front, 
opening  out  into  the  quadrangle  of  the  court- 


THE    BONNY   LASS   OF   EARLSTOUN.  151 

yard,  let  in  a  cool  drawing  sough  of  air,  and 
the  smaller  door  at  the  back  let  it  out  again, 
and  gave  us  at  the  same  time  a  sweet  eye-blink 
into  the  orchard,  where  the  apples  were  hang- 
ing mellow  and  pleasant  on  the  branches,  and 
the  leaves  hardly  yet  loosening  themselves  for 
their  fall.  The  light  sifted  through  the  leaves 
from  the  westering  sun,  dappling  the  grass  and 
wavering  upon  the  hard-beaten  earthen  floor 
of  the  barn. 

"  I  am  groins:  over  by  to  Earlstoun!  "  I  said 
to  Anna,  without  looking  up. 

Anna  and  I  spoke  but  half  our  talks  out 
loud.  We  had  been  such  close  comrades  all 
our  lives  that  we  understood  much  without 
needing  to  clothe  our  thoughts  in  words. 

Apparently  Anna  did  not  hear  what  I  said, 
so  I  repeated  it. 

"  Dinna,"  was  all  she  answered. 

"  And  wherefore  should  I  not?  "  I  persisted, 
argumentatively.  "  The  laird  most  kindly  in- 
vited me,  indeed  laid  it  on  me  like  an  obligation 
that  I  should  come." 

"  Ye  are  going  over  to  Earlstoun  to  see  the 
laird?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  I  said;  "  that  is,  he  has  a  de- 
sire to  see  me.  He  is  the  greatest  of  all  the 
11 


152  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

Covenant  men,  and  we  have  much  in  common 
to  speak  about." 

'  To-morrow  he  will  be  riding  by  to  the 
market  at  Kirkcudbright,  where  he  has  busi- 
ness. Ye  can  ride  with  him  to  the  cross  roads 
of  Clachan  Pluck  and  talk  all  that  your  heart 
desires  of  Kirk  and  State." 

"  Anna,"  said  I,  seriously,  "  I  tell  you  again 
I  am  going  to  the  house  of  Earlstoun  to-mor- 
row." 

In  a  moment  she  dropped  her  pretence  of 
banter. 

4  Quintin,  ye  will  only  make  your  heart  the 
sorer,  laddie." 

"And  wherefore?"  said  I. 
'  See  the  sparkle  on  the  water  out  there," 
she  said,  pointing  to  the  bosom  of  Loch  Ken 
far  below  us,  seen  through  the  open  door  of  the 
barn;  ''it's  bonny.  But  can  ye  gather  it  in 
your  hand,  or  wear  it  in  your  bosom?  Dear 
and  delightsome  is  this  good  smell  of  apples 
and  of  orchard  freshness,  but  can  ye  fold  these 
and  carry  them  with  you  to  the  bare  manse  of 
Balmaghie  for  comfort  to  your  heart?  No 
more  can  ye  take  the  haughtiness  of  the  great 
man's  daughter,  the  glance  of  proud  eyes,  the 
heart    of   one    accustomed    to    obedience,    and 


THE   BONNY   LASS   OF   EARLSTOUN. 


153 


bring  them  into  subjection  to  a  poor  man's  ne- 
cessities." 

'  Love  can  do  all,"  said  I,  sententiously. 

"  Aye,"  she  said,  "  where  love  is,  it  can  in- 
deed work  all  things.  But  I  bid  ye  remember 
that  love  dwells  not  yet  in  Mary  Gordon's 
breast  for  any  man.  Hers  is  not  a  heart  to 
bend.  For  rank  or  fame  she  may  give  herself, 
but  not  for  love." 

"  Nevertheless,"  said  I,  "  I  will  go  to  the 
house  of  Earlstoun  to-morrow  at  ten  o'  the 
clock." 

Anna  rose  and  laid  her  hand  on  mine. 

'  I  kenned  it,"  she  said,  "  and  little  would  I 
think  of  you,  brother  of  mine,  if  ye  had  ta'en 
my  excellent  advice." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

ONE    WAY    OF    LOVE. 

It  was  the  prime  of  the  morning  when  I 
set  out  for  Earlstoun.  My  mother  called  after 
me  to  mind  my  manners,  as  if  I  had  still  been 
but  a  herdboy  summoned  into  the  presence  of 
the  great.  My  father  asked  me  when  I  would 
be  back.  Only  Anna  said  nothing,  but  her  eyes 
were  sad.  Well  she  knew  that  I  went  to  give 
myself  an  aching  heart. 

Now  the  Ken  is  a  pleasant  water,  and  the 
road  up  the  Glenkens  a  fine  road  to  travel.  But 
I  went  it  that  morning  heavily — rather,  indeed, 
like  one  who  goes  to  the  burying  of  a  friend 
than  like  a  lover  setting  out  to  see  his  mistress. 

I  turned  me  down  through  the  woods  to 
Earlstoun.  There  were  signs  of  the  still  recent 
return  of  the  family.  Here  on  the  gate  of  the 
lodge  was  the  effaced  escutcheon  of  Colonel 
Theophilus  Oglethorpe,  which  Alexander  Gor- 
don had  not  yet  had  time  to  replace  with  the 
154 


ONE   WAY   OF   LOVE.  jjjjj 

ancient  arms  of  his  family.  For  indeed  it  was 
to  Colonel  William,  Sandy  Gordon's  brother,  he 
who  had  led  us  to  Edinburgh  in  the  Convention 
year,  that  the  recovery  of  the  family  estates  was 
due. 

I  had  not  expected  any  especially  kind  wel- 
come. The  laird  of  Earlstoun  had  been  a 
mighty  Covenanter,  and  now  wore  his  prison- 
ments  and  sufferings  somewhat  ostentatiously, 
like  so  many  orders  of  merit.  He  would  think 
little  of  one  who  was  a  minister  of  the  uncove- 
nanted  Kirk,  and  who,  though  holding  the  free- 
dom of  that  Kirk  as  his  heart's  belief,  yet,  nev- 
ertheless, demeaned  him  to  take  the  pay  of  the 
State.  To  be  faithful  and  devoted  in  service 
were  not  enough  for  Alexander  Gordon.  To 
please  him  one  must  do  altogether  as  he  had 
done,  think  entirely  as  he  thought. 

Yet  I  was  to  be  more  kindly  received  than 
I  anticipated. 

It  was  in  the  midst  of  the  road  where  the 
wood,  turning  sharp  along  the  waterside,  a  nar- 
row path  twines  and  twists  through  sparkling 
birches  and  trembling  alders.  The  pools  slept 
black  beneath  as  I  looked  down  upon  them 
from  some  craggy  pinnacle  to  which  the  grey 
hill   lichen    clung.     The   salmon   poised    them- 


156 


THE    STANDARD   BEARER. 


selves  motionless,  save  for  a  waving  fin,  below 
the  fish-leaps,  ready  for  their  rush  upstream 
when  the  floods  should  come  down  brown  with 
peat  water  from  Cairnsmore  and  the  range  of 
Kells. 

All  at  once,  as  I  stood  dreaming,  I  heard  a 
gay  voice  lilting  at  a  song.  I  wavered  a  mo- 
ment in  act  to  flee,  my  heart  almost  standing 
still  to  listen. 

For  I  knew  among  a  thousand  the  voice  of 
Mary  Gordon.  But  I  had  no  time  to  conceal 
myself.  A  gleam  of  white  and  lilac  through 
the  bushes,  a  bright  reflection  as  of  sunshine 
on  the  pool — then  the  whole  day  brightened 
and  she  stood  before  me. 

The  song  instantly  stilled  itself  on  lier  lips. 

We  stood  face  to  face.  It  seemed  to  me 
that  she  paled  a  little.  But  perhaps  it  was  only 
that  I,  who  desired  so  greatly  to  see  any  evi- 
dence of  emotion,  saw  part  of  that  which  I  de- 
sired. 

The  next  moment  she  came  forward  with 
her  hand  frankly  outstretched. 

"  I  bid  you  welcome  to  Earlstoun,"  she  said. 
"Alas!  that  my  father  should  this  day  be  from 
home.  He  is  gone  to  Kirkcudbright.  But  my 
mother  and  I  will  show  you  hospitality  till  he 


ONE   WAY   OF    LOVE. 


157 


return.  My  father  hears  a  great  word  of  you, 
he  tells  us.  The  country  tongue  speaks  well  of 
your  labours." 

Now  it  seemed  to  me  that  in  thus  speaking 
she  smiled  to  herself,  and  that  put  me  from 
answering.  I  could  do  naught  but  be  stiffly 
silent. 

'  I  thank  you,  Mistress  Mary,  for  your  kind 
courtesy!"  was  all  that  I  found  within  me  to 
say.  For  I  felt  that  she  must  despise  me  for 
a  country  lout  of  no  manners  and  ungentle 
birth.     So  at  least  I  thought  at  the  time. 

We  passed  without  speech  through  the  scat- 
tering shadows  of  the  birches,  and  I  saw  that 
her  hair  (on  which  she  wore  no  covering)  had 
changed  from  its  ancient  yellow  as  of  ripened 
corn  into  a  sunny  brown.  Yet  as  I  looked 
furtively,  here  and  there  the  gentle  crispen 
wavelets  seemed  to  be  touched  and  flecked  with 
threads  of  its  ancient  sheen,  a  thing  which  filled 
me  strangely  with  a  desire  to  caress  with  my 
hand  its  desirable  beauty — so  carnal  and  wicked 
are  the  thoughts  of  the  heart  of  man. 

But  when  I  saw  her  so  lightsome  and  dainty, 
so  full  of  delight  and  the  admirable  joy  of  living, 
a  sullen  sort  of  anger  came  over  me  that  I 
should  chance  to  love  one  who  could  in  no  wise 


158  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

love  me  again,  nor  yet  render  me  the  return 
which  I  so  greatly  desired. 

"  You  have  travelled  all  the  long  way  from 
the  Manse  of  Balmaghie?  "  she  said,  suddenly 
falling  back  to  my  side  where  the  path  was 
wider,  as  if  she,  too,  felt  the  pause  of  constraint. 

"  Nay,"  I  answered,  "  I  have  been  at  Ardar- 
roch  with  my  father  and  mother  for  two  days. 
And  to-morrow  I  must  return  to  the  people 
among  whom  I  labour." 

She  stole  a  quick  glance  at  me  from  beneath 
her  long  dark  lashes.  There  was  infinite  teas- 
ing mischief  in  the  flashing  of  her  eyes. 

1  You  have  an  empty  manse  by  the  water- 
side of  Dee.  Ye  will  doubtless  be  looking  for 
some  douce  country  lass  to  fill  it." 

The  words  were  kindly  enough  spoken,  yet 
in  the  very  frankness  of  the  speech  I  recognised 
the  distance  she  was  putting  between  us.  But 
I  had  not  been  trained  in  the  school  of  quick 
retorts  nor  of  the  light  debate  of  maidens.  For 
all  that  I  had  a  will  of  mine  own,  and  would  not 
permit  that  any  woman  born  of  woman  should 
play  cat's-cradle  with  Quintin  MacClellan. 

'  Lady,"  said  I,  "  there  is,  indeed,  an  empty 
manse  down  yonder  by  the  Dee,  and  I  am  look- 
ing for  one  to  fill  it.     But  I  will  have  none  who 


ONE   WAY   OF   LOVE.  j$g 

cannot  love  me  for  myself,  and  also  who  will  not 
love  the  work  to  which  I  have  set  my  hand." 

She  held  up  her  hand  in  quick  merriment. 

'  Do  not  be  afraid,"  she  cried,  gaily.  "  I 
was  not  thinking  of  making  you  an  offer!  " 

And  then  she  laughed  so  mirthsome  a  peal 
that  all  against  my  will  I  was  forced  to  join  her. 
And  this  mended  matters  wonderfully.  For 
after  that,  though  I  had  my  own  troubles  with 
her  and  my  heart-breaks  as  all  shall  hear,  yet 
never  was  she  again  the  haughty  maiden  of  the 
first  sermon  and  the  midsummer  kirk  door. 

'  They  tell  me  that  once  ye  brought  me  all 
the  way  from  the  Bennan-top  to  the  tower  of 
Lochinvar,  where  our  Auntie  Jean  was  biding?  ': 

'  I  found  no  claims  to  your  good-will  on 
that,"  said  I,  mindful  of  the  day  of  my  first  way 
going  to  Edinburgh;  "but  I  would  fain  have 
you  think  well  of  me  now." 

'  Ye  are  still  over  great  a  Whig.  Mind  that 
I  stand  for  the  White  Rose,"  she  said,  stamping 
her  foot  merrily. 

"  'Tis  a  matter  ye  ken  nothing  about,"  said 
I,  roughly.  '  Maidens  had  better  let  the  affairs 
of  State  alone.  Methinks  the  White  Rose  has 
brought  little  good  to  you  and  yours." 

'  I  tell  you  what,  Sir  Minister,"  she  cried, 


l6o  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

mocking  me,  "  there  are  two  great  tubs  in  the 
pool  below  the  falls.  Do  you  get  into  one  and 
I  will  take  the  other.  I  will  fly  the  white  pen- 
non and  you  the  blue.  Then  let  us  each  take 
a  staff  and  tilt  at  one  another.  If  you  upset 
me,  'pon  honour,  I  will  turn  Whig,  but  if  you 
are  ducked  in  the  pond,  you  must  wear  hence- 
forth the  colours  of  the  true  King.  Tis  an 
equal  bargain.     You  agree?  " 

But  before  I  could  reply  we  were  near  by 
the  gate  of  Earlstoun,  and  there  came  out  a 
lady  wrapped  in  a  shawl,  and  this  though  the 
day  was  hot  and  the  autumnal  air  had  never  an 
edge  upon  it. 

'  Mother,"  cried  Mary  Gordon,  running 
eagerly  to  meet  her.  The  lady  in  the  plaid 
seemed  not  to  hear,  but  turned  aside  by 
the  path  which  led  along  the  water  to  the 
north. 

The  girl  ran  after  her  and  caught  her 
mother  by  the  arm. 

'  Here  is  Mr.  MacClellan,  the  minister  from 
Balmaghie,  come  to  see  my  father,"  said  she. 
"  Bide,  mother,  and  make  him  welcome." 

The  lady  stopped  stiffly  till  I  had  come  im- 
mediately in  front  of  her. 

"  You  are  a  minister  of  the  Established  and 


ONE   WAY   OF   LOVE.  161 

Uncovenanted   Kirk? ':    she   asked   me,   eyeing 
me  sternly  enough. 

I  told  her  that  I  had  been  ordained  a  week 
before. 

"  Then  you  have  indeed  broken  your  faith 
with  the  Persecuted  Remnant,  as  they  tell  me?" 
she  went  on,  keeping  her  eyes  blankly  upon  my 
face. 

"Nay,"  said  I;  "I  have  the  old  ways  still 
at  heart  and  will  stand  till  death  by  the  faith  de- 
livered to  the  martyrs." 

"  What  do  ye,  then,  clad  in  the  rags  of  the 
State?  " 

Whereat  I  told  the  Lady  of  Earlstoun  how 
that  I  was  with  all  my  heart  resolved  to  fight 
the  Kirk's  battle  for  her  ancient  liberties  and 
for  the  power  to  rule  within  her  own  borders. 
But  that  if  those  in  authority  gave  us  not  the 
hearing  and  liberty  we  desired,  I,  for  one,  would 
shake  off  the  dust  of  the  unworthy  Kirk  of 
Scotland  from  my  feet — as,  indeed,  I  was  well 
resolved  to  do. 

But  Mary  Gordon  broke  in  on  my  eager  ex- 
planation. 

'  Mother,  mother,"  she  cried,  "  come  your 
ways  in  and  entertain  the  guest.  Let  your 
questionings  keep  till  our  father  comes  from 


162  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

Kirkcudbright.  Assuredly  they  will  have  a 
stormy  fortnight  of  it  then.  Let  the  lad  now 
break  bread  and  cheese." 

The  lady  sighed  and  clasped  her  hands. 

'  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "  it  must  even  be  so; 
for  men  are  carnal  and  their  bodies  must  be  fed. 
Alas,  there  are  but  few  who  care  for  the  health 
of  their  souls!  As  for  me,  I  was  about  to  re- 
tire to  the  wood  that  I  might  for  the  hundred 
three  score  and  ninth  time  renew  my  covenant- 
ing engagements." 

"  You  must  break  them  very  often,  mother, 
that  they  are  ever  needing  mending,"  said  her 
daughter,  not  so  unkindly  as  the  words  look 
when  written  down,  but  rather  carelessly,  like 
one  who  has  been  oftentimes  over  the  same 
ground  and  knows  the  landmarks  by  heart. 

"  Mary,  Mary,"  answered  her  mother,  "  I 
fear  there  is  no  serious  or  spiritual  interest  in 
you.  Your  father  spoils  and  humours  you. 
And  so  you  have  grown  up — not  like  that  godly 
lad  Alexander  Gordon  the  younger,  who  when 
he  was  but  three  years  of  his  age  had  read  the 
Bible  through  nineteen  times,  and  could  rattle 
off  the  books  of  the  Old  and  New  Testaments 
whiles  I  was  counting  ten." 

"  Aye,  mother,"   replied   the  lass,   "  and  in 


ONE   WAY   OF   LOVE.  jg, 

addition  could  make  faces  behind  your  back  all 
the  time  he  was  doing  it!  " 

But  the  lady  appeared  not  to  hear  her 
daughter.  She  continued  to  clasp  her  hands 
convulsively  before  her,  and  to  repeat  over  and 
over  again  the  words,  "  Eh,  the  blessed  laddie 
— the  blessed,  blessed  laddie!  " 

How  long  we  might  have  stood  thus  in  the 
glaring  sun  I  know  not;  but,  without  waiting 
for  her  mother  to  take  the  lead  or  to  go  in  of 
her  own  accord,  Mary  Gordon  wheeled  her 
round  by  the  arm  and  led  her  unresisting  to- 
wards the  courtyard  gate.  She  accompanied 
her  daughter  with  the  same  weary  unconcern 
and  passionless  preoccupation  she  had  shown 
from  the  first,  twisting  and  pulling  the  fringes 
of  the  shawl  between  her  fingers,  while  her 
thin  lips  moved,  either  in  covenant-making  or 
in  the  murmured  praises  of  her  favourite 
child. 

The  room  to  which  we  were  brought  was  a 
large  one  with  panels  of  oak  carven  at  the  cor- 
nices into  quaint  and  formal  ornaments. 

Mary  went  to  the  stairhead  and  cried  down 
as  to  one  in  the  kitchen:  'Thomas  Allen! 
Thomas  Allen!" 

A    thin,    querulous    voice    arose    from    the 


164  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

depths:  "Sic  a  fash!     Wha's  come  stravagin' 
at  this  time  o'  day?     He  will  be  wantin'  victual 

dootless.     I  never  saw  the  like " 

;  Thomas  Allen!  Haste  ye  fast,  Thomas!  " 
'  Comin',  mem,  comin'!  What's  your  fret? 
There's  naebody  in  the  deid-thraws,*  is  there?  " 
As  the  last  words  were  uttered,  an  old  serv- 
ing-man, in  a  blue  side-coat  of  thirty  years  be- 
fore, with  threadbare  lace  falling  low  at  the 
neck  and  hands  in  a  forgotten  fashion,  appeared 
at  the  doorway.  His  bald  and  shining  head 
had  still  a  few  lyart  locks  clinging  like  white 
fringes  about  the  sides.  These,  however,  were 
not  allowed  to  grow  downward  in  the  natural 
manner,  but  were  trained  as  gardeners  train 
fruit  trees  against  walls  that  look  to  the  south. 
They  climbed  directly  upward  so  that  the  head 
of  Thomas  Allen  was  criss-crossed  in  both  di- 
rections by  streaks  of  hair,  interlaced  like  the 
fingers  of  one's  hands  netted  together.  But 
owing  to  the  natural  haste  with  which  Thomas 
did  his  work,  these  were  never  all  seen  in  place 
at  one  time.  Invariably  they  had  fallen  to  one 
side  or  the  other,  and  being  stiffened  with  can- 
dle grease  or  other  greyish  unguent,  they  stood 


*  The  death  grips. 


ONE   WAY   OF   LOVE. 


I65 


out  at  all  angles  like  goose  quills  from  a  scriv- 
ener's inkpot. 

During  the  perfunctory  repast  which  was 
finally  brought  forward  and  placed  on  the  table 
by  the  reluctant  Thomas,  Mistress  Mary  sat 
directly  opposite  to  me  with  her  chin  resting  on 
her  ringers  and  her  elbows  on  the  table.  Her 
mother,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  chamber,  occu- 
pied herself  in  looking  out  of  the  window,  occa- 
sionally clasping  her  hands  in  the  urgency  of 
her  supplications  or  giving  vent  to  a  pitiful 
moan  which  indicated  her  sense  of  the  hopeless 
iniquity  of  mankind. 

Then  with  more  kindliness  than  she  had  ever 
yet  shown  me,  Mary  Gordon  asked  of  my  people 
of  Balmaghie,  whether  the  call  had  been  unani- 
mous, who  abode  with  me  in  the  manse,  and 
many  other  questions,  to  all  of  which  I  an- 
swered as  well  as  I  could.  For  the  truth  is, 
that  the  nearness  of  so  admirable  a  maid  and  the 
directness  of  her  gaze  wrought  in  me  a  kind  of 
desperation,  so  that  it  was  all  I  could  do  to 
keep  from  telling  her  then  that  I  had  come 
to  the  house  of  Earlstoun  to  ask  her  to  be  my 
wife. 

Not  that  I  had  the  wildest  hope  of  a  favour- 
able answer,  but  simply  from  inexperience  at  the 


j66  THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 

business  of  making  love  to  a  young  lass  I  blun- 
dered blindly  on.  Plain  ram-stam  Hob  could 
have  bested  me  fairly  at  that.  For  he  had  not 
talked  so  long  to  the  good-wives  of  the  Lo- 
thians  without  getting  a  well-hung  tongue  in 
the  head  of  him. 

I  looked  sideways  at  the  Lady  of  Earlstoun. 
She  was  mumbling  at  her  devotions,  or  perhaps 
meditating  other  and  more  personal  covenant- 
ings.  Mary  Gordon  and  I  were  in  a  manner 
alone. 

"  Mistress  Mary,"  I  said,  suddenly  leaning 
towards  her,  my  desperation  getting  the  better 
of  my  natural  prudence,  "  I  know  that  I  speak 
wholly  without  hope.  But  I  came  to-day  to 
tell  you  that  I  love  you.  I  am  but  a  cotter's 
lad,  but  I  have  loved  you  ever  since  I  ferried 
you,  a  little  maid,  past  the  muskets  of  the 
troopers." 

I  looked  straight  enough  at  her  now.  I 
could  see  the  colour  rise  a  little  in  her  cheek, 
while  a  strange  expression  of  wonder  and  pride, 
with  something  that  was  neither,  overspread 
her  face.  Up  to  this  point  I  might  have  been 
warned,  but  I  was  not  to  be  holden  now. 

'  Before  I  had  no  right,  nor,  indeed,  any 
opportunity  to  tell  you  this.     But  now,  as  min- 


ONE   WAY   OF    LOVE. 


167 


ister  of  a  parish,  I  have  an  income  that  will  com- 
pare not  unfavourably  with  that  of  most  of  the 
smaller  gentry  of  the  county." 

The  girl  nodded,  with  a  swift  hardening  of 
the  nostril. 

"  It  will  doubtless  be  a  fine  income,"  she 
said,  with  a  touch  of  scorn.  '  Did  I  understand 
you  to  offer  me  your  manse  and  income?  ': 

'  I  offer  you  that  which  neither  dishonours 
an  honest  girl  to  hear  or  yet  an  honest  man 
to  speak.  I  am  offering  you  my  best  service, 
the  faith  and  devotion  of  a  man  who  truly  loves 
you." 

'  I  thank  you,  sir,"  she  said,  lifting  up  her 
head  and  letting  her  eyes  dwell  on  me  with  some 
of  their  former  haughtiness;  "  I  am  honoured 
indeed.  Your  position,  your  manse,  your 
glebe!  How  many  acres  did  you  say  it  was? 
Your  income,  good  as  that  of  a  laird.  And  you 
come  offering  all  these  to  Mary  Gordon?  Sir, 
I  bid  you  carry  your  business  transactions  to  the 
county  market-place.  Mary  Gordon  is  not  to 
be  bought  and  sold.  When  she  loves,  she  will 
give  herself  for  love  and  love  alone.  Aye,  were 
it  to  a  poke-laden  houseless  cadger  by  the  road- 
side, or  a  ploughman  staggering  between  the 
furrows!  " 


12 


l68  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

And  with  that  she  rose  and  walked  swiftly 
to  the  door.  I  could  hear  her  foot  die  away 
through  the  courtyard;  and  going  blankly  to 
the  window,  I  watched  her  slim  figure  glance 
between  the  clumps  of  trees,  now  in  the  light, 
now  in  the  shadow,  and  anon  lost  in  the  yellow- 
ing depths  of  the  forest. 

Nor,  though  I  watched  all  through  the  long 
hot  afternoon,  did  she  return  till  she  came  home 
riding  upon  her  father's  horse,  with  Sandy  Gor- 
don himself  walking  bareheaded  beside  his 
daughter,  as  if  he  had  been  escorting  a  queen 
on  her  coronation  day. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

ANOTHER    WAY    OF    LOVE. 

(Comment  and  Addition  by  Hob  MacClellan.) 

Lord!  Lord!  Was  there  ever  a  more 
bungled  affair — a  more  humiliating  confession. 
Our  poor  Quintin — great  as  he  was  at  the 
preaching,  an  apostle  indeed,  none  in  broad 
Scotland  to  come  within  miles  of  him  in  the 
pulpit — with  a  lass  was  simply  fair  useless.  I 
must  e'en  tell  in  a  word  how  mine  own  wooing 
sped,  that  I  may  prove  there  was  some  airt  and 
spunk  left  among  the  MacClellans. 

For  by  Quintin's  own  showing  the  girl  had 
no  loop-hole  left,  being  wooed  as  if  she  had 
been  so  many  sacks  of  corn.  She  was  fairly 
tied  up  to  refuse  so  hopeless  and  fushionless  a 
suitor. 

But  of  all  this  there  was  no  suspicion  at  the 

time,  neither  in  the  parish  of  Bahnaghie,  or  yet 

even    among    ourselves    at    Ardarroch.      For 

169 


lyo  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

though  nothing  gets  wind  so  quickly  in  a  parish 
as  the  news  that  the  minister  is  "  seekin  " — 
that  is,  going  from  home  courting,  yet  such  was 
my  brother's  repute  for  piety  "  within  the 
bounds  of  the  Presbytery,"  such  the  reverence 
in  which  he  was  held,  that  the  popular  voice 
considered  him  altogether  trysted  to  no  maiden, 
but  to  the  ancient  and  honourable  Kirk  of  Scot- 
land as  she  had  been  in  the  high  days  of  her 
pride  and  purity. 

'  Na,"  they  would  say,  '"  our  minister  will 
never  taingle  himsel'  wi'  marriage  engagements 
while  there  is  a  battle  to  be  fought  for  the  Auld 
Banner  o'  Blue."  So  whereas  another  might 
not  so  much  as  look  over  the  wall,  my  brother 
might  have  stolen  all  the  horses  before"  their 
eyes. 

And  I  think  it  was  this  great  popular  repute 
of  him  which  first  set  his  fellow-ministers 
against  him,  far  more  than  any  so-called  "  de- 
fections ';  and  differences  either  ecclesiastical 
or  political. 

I  have  seen  him  at  a  sacrament  at  Dairy 
hold  the  listening  thousands  so  that  they 
swayed  this  way  and  that  like  barley  shaken 
by  the  winds.  Never  beheld  I  the  like — the 
multitude  of  the  folk  all  bending  their  faces  to 


ANOTHER   WAY   OF   LOVE. 


171 


one  point — careless  young  lads  from  distant 
farms,  light-headed  limmers  of  lasses,  bairns 
that  had  been  skipping  about  the  kirk-yard  and 
playing  "  I  spy  "  among  the  tombstones  while 
other  ministers  were  preaching — all  now  fixed 
and  spellbound  when  my  brother  rose  to  speak, 
and  his  full  bell-like  voice  sounded  out  from  the 
preaching-tent  over  their  heads. 

I  think  that  if  at  any  time  he  had  held  up 
his  hand  and  called  them  to  follow  him  to  bat- 
tle, every  man  would  have  gone  forth  as  un- 
questionably as  did  Cameron's  folk  on  that  fatal 
day  of  the  Moss  of  Ayr. 

But  I  who  sat  there,  with  eyes  sharpened 
and  made  jealous  by  exceeding  love  for  my 
brother,  could  see  clearly  the  looks  of  dark  sus- 
picion, the  sneers  that  dwelt  on  sanctimonious 
lips,  the  frowns  of  envy  and  ill-will  as  Quintin 
stood  up,  and  the  folk  poured  anxiously  inward 
towards  the  preaching-tent  to  hear  him.  I 
noted  also  the  yet  deeper  anger  of  those  who 
succeeded  him,  when  multitudes  rose  and  for- 
sook the  meeting  because  there  was  to  be  no 
more  of  the  young  minister  o'  Balmaghie  that 
day. 

Now  though  it  was  rather  on  the  point  of 
politics  and   of  the   standing  of  the   kirk,   her 


1/2  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

right  to  rule  herself  without  interference  of  the 
State,  her  ancient  independence  and  submission 
to   Christ   the  only   head   of  the   church,   that 
Quintin   was   finally   persecuted   and   called   in 
question,  yet,  as  all  men  know  in  Galloway,  it 
was    really    on    account    of    the    popular    ac- 
claim, the  bruit  of  great  talents  and  godliness 
which    he    held   among    all    men,    beyond    any 
that   ever  came   into   the   countryside,   and   of 
his  quietness  and   persistence  also  in   holding 
his    own    and    keeping    a    straight    unvarying 
course   amid    all    threatenings    and    defections, 
which  brought   the  final  wrath  upon  him  and 
constituted  the  true  head  and  front  of  his  of- 
fending. 

Aye,  and  men  saw  that  the  storm  was  brew- 
ing over  him  long  before  it  burst. 

For  several  of  the  Galloway  ministers  had 
deliberately  left  the  folk  of  the  mountains  for 
the  sake  of  a  comfortable  down-sitting  in  bein 
and  sheltered  parishes.  Some  of  them  even 
owed  their  learning  at  the  Dutch  Universities 
to  the  poor  purses  of  these  covenanting  so- 
cieties. 

And  so  when  papers  came  down  from  the 
Privy  Council  or  from  the  men  who,  like  Car- 
stairs,  posed  as  little  gods  and  popes  infallible, 


ANOTHER   WAY   OF   LOVE. 


173 


the  Presbytery  men  greedily  signed  them,  swal- 
lowing titles,  oaths  and  obligations  with  shut 
eye  and  indiscriminate  appetite  lest  unhappily 
they  would  be  obliged  to  consult  their  con- 
sciences. 

Such  men  as  constituted  the  Presbytery  of 
Kirkcudbright  had  but  one  motto — a  clear  and 
useful  one  indeed  at  such  a  time,  "  Those  in 
power  can  do  no  wrong!  " 

So  three  years  went  uneasily  by,  and  mean- 
time the  parish  of  Balmaghie  had  grown  to 
know  and  love  our  Quintin.  There  was  hardly 
a  rascal  drover,  a  common  villain  pig-dealer  who 
was  not  ready  to  crack  a  skull  at  an  ill  word 
said  of  him  even  in  jest.  Men  who  in  time  past 
had  sneered  at  religion,  and  had  never  any  good 
report  of  ministers,  dull  clods  with  ideals  teth- 
ered to  the  midden  and  the  byre,  waked  up  at 
sight  of  him,  and  would  travel  miles  to  hear 
him  preach. 

And  thus  three  happy  unstirred  years  went 
by.  I  abode  in  the  manse  with  Quintin,  and 
every  morning  when  I  arose  at  break  of  day 
to  take  the  cattle  afield,  or  to  set  the  plough 
in  the  glebe,  I  would  see  that  his  window-blind 
was  withdrawn,  his  candle  alight  if  it  were  win- 
ter, and  that  he  had  already  set  him  down  with 


174 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


his  book.  Or  sometimes  when  the  summer 
evening-  darkened  to  dusk  I  would  meet  him 
wandering,  his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back, 
and  his  whole  soul  steeped  in  meditation  by  the 
whispering  rushes  of  the  waterside. 

Yet  what  a  simpleton  in  worldly  things  he 
was;  and,  mayhap,  that  was  what  made  me  love 
him  the  more. 

For  about  this  time  there  began  a  stir  and 
a  bruit  of  the  matter  of  little  Jean  Gemmell,  a 
soft-voiced,  die-away  lass  that  I  would  not  have 
troubled  my  head  about  for  a  moment.  She 
had,  truth  to  tell,  set  herself  to  catch  our  fool- 
ish Quintin,  whose  heart  was  in  good  sooth 
fully  given  to  another.  And  how  she  did  it, 
let  himself  tell.  But  I,  that  thought  nothing 
of  a  lass  without  spirit,  would  often  warn  him 
to  beware.  But  he  minded  me  not,  smiling  and 
giving  the  subject  the  go-by  in  a  certain  sober 
and  serious  way  he  had  which  somehow  silenced 
me  against  my  will. 

But  in  between  my  brother's  ill-starred 
wooing  of  the  bonny  lass  of  Earlstoun,  and 
Jean  Gemmell's  meek-eyed  courtship  of  him,  I 
also  had  been  doing  somewhat  on  mine  own 
account. 

At    the   house    of   Drumglass    there    abode 


ANOTHER   WAY   OF    LOVE. 


175 


one  who  to  my  mind  was  worth  all  the 
haughty  damsels  of  great  houses  and  all  the 
sleek  and  kittenish  eyes-makers  in  broad  Scot- 
land. 

When  first  I  saw  Alexander-Jonita  come 
over  the  hill,  riding  a  Galloway  sheltie  bare- 
backed, her  dark  hair  streaming  in  the  wind, 
and  the  pony  speeding  over  the  heather  like 
the  black  charger  of  Clavers  on  the  side  of  Cairn 
Edward,  I  knew  that  there  was  no  hope  for  my 
heart.  I  had  indeed  fancied  myself  in  love  be- 
fore. So  much  was  expected  of  a  lad  in  our 
parts.  But  Alexander-Jonita  was  a  quest  worth 
some  enterprising  to  obtain. 

The  neighbours,  at  least  the  rigidly  right- 
eous of  them,  were  inclined  to  look  somewhat 
askance  upon  a  lass  that  went  so  little  to  the 
Kirk,  and  companioned  more  with  the  dumb 
things  of  the  field  than  with  her  own  kith  and 
kin.  But  Quintin  would  ask  such  whether 
their  own  vineyard  was  so  well  kept,  their  own 
duty  so  faultlessly  done,  that  they  could  afford 
to  keep  a  stone  ready  to  cast  at  Alexander- 
Jonita. 

I  remember  the  first  time  that  ever  I  spoke 
to  her  words  beyond  the  common  greetings  and 
salutations  of  lad  and  lass. 


!^6  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

It  was  a  clear  night  in  early  June.  I  had 
been  over  at  Ardarroch  seeing  my  mother,  and 
now  having  passed  high  up  the  Black  Water  of 
Dee,  I  was  making  my  way  across  the  rugged 
fells  and  dark  heathery  fastnesses  to  the  manse 
of  Balmaghie. 

The  mist  was  rising  about  the  waterside. 
It  lingered  in  pools  and  drifts  in  every  meadowy 
hollow,  but  the  purpling  hilltops  were  clear  and 
bare  in  the  long  soft  June  twilight. 

Suddenly  a  gun  went  off,  as  it  seemed  in 
my  very  ear.  I  sprang  a  foot  into  the  air,  for 
who  on  honourable  business  would  discharge 
a  musket  in  that  wild  place  at  such  a  time. 

But  ere  I  had  time  to  think,  above  me  on 
the  ridge  a  figure  stood  black  against  the  sky 
— a  girl's  shape  it  was,  slim,  tall,  erect.  She 
carried  something  in  one  hand  which  trailed  on 
the  heather,  and  a  musket  was  under  her  arm, 
muzzle  down. 

I  had  not  yet  recovered  my  breath  when  a 
voice  came  to  me. 

"  Ah,  Hob  MacClellan,  the  ill  deil  tak'  your 
courting-jaunts  this  nicht!  For  had  ye  bidden 
at  hame  I  would  have1  gotten  baith  o'  the  red 
foxes  that  have  been  killing  our  weakly  lambs. 
As  it  is,  I  gat  but  this." 


ANOTHER   WAY   OF   LOVE.  177 

And  she  held  up  a  great  dog  fox  by  the 
brush  before  throwing  the  body  into  a  conven- 
ient moss-hole. 

It  was  Alexander-Jonita,  the  lass  whom 
our  college-bred  Quintin  had  once  called  the 
Diana  of  Balmaghie.  I  care  not  what  he  called 
her.  Without  question  she  was  the  finest  lass 
in  the  countryside.  And  that  I  will  maintain 
to  this  day. 

"  Are  you  going  home,  Jonita? ':  cried  I, 
for  the  direction  in  which  she  was  proceeding 
led  directly  away  from  the  house  of  Drumglass. 

"  No,"  she  answered  carelessly,  "  I  am  bid- 
ing all  night  in  the  upper  '  buchts.'  The  foxes 
have  been  very  troublesome  of  late,  and  I  am 
thinning  them  with  the  gun.  I  have  the  feck 
of  the  lambs  penned  up  there." 

"  And  who  is  with  you  to  help  you?  '  I 
asked  her  in  astonishment. 

"  Only  the  dogs,"  she  made  answer,  shift- 
ing the  gun  from  one  shoulder  to  the  other. 

"  But,  lassie,"  I  cried,  "  ye  surely  do  not 
sleep  out  on  the  hills  all  your  lone  like  this?  " 

"  And  what  for  no?  "  she  answered  sharply. 
"  What  sweeter  bed  than  a  truss  of  heather? 
What  safer  than  with  two  rough  tykes  of  dogs 
and  a  good  gun  at  one's  elbow,  with  the  clear 


178  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

airs  blowing  over  and  the  sheep  lying  snugly 
about  the  folds?  " 

'  But  when  it  rains,"  I  went  on,  still  doubt- 
fully. 

'Come    and    see,''    she    laughed;  "we    are 
near  the  upper  '  buchts  '  now!  " 

Great  stone  walls  of  rough  hill  boulders, 
uncut  and  unquarried,  rose  before  me.  I  saw 
a  couple  of  rough  collies  sit  guardian  one  at 
either  side  of  the  little  lintelled  gate  that  led 
within.  The  warm  smell  of  gathered  sheep, 
ever  kindly  and  welcome  to  a  hill  man,  saluted 
my  nostrils  as  I  came  near.  A  lamb  bleated, 
and  in  the  quiet  I  could  hear  it  run  pattering 
to  nose  its  mother. 

Alexander-Jonita  led  me  about  the  great 
'  bucht  "  to  a  niche  formed  by  a  kind  of  cairn 
built  into  the  side  of  a  wall  of  natural  rock. 
Here  a  sort  of  rude  shelter  had  been  made  with 
posts  driven  into  the  crevices  of  the  rock  and 
roughly  covered  with  turves  of  heather  round 
the  sides  of  a  ten-foot  enclosure.  The  floor 
was  of  bare  dry  rock,  but  along  one  side  there 
was  arranged  a  couch  of  heather  tops  recently 
pulled,  very  soft  and  elastic.  At  first  I  could 
not  see  all  this  quite  clearly  in  the  increasing 
darkness,  but  after  a  little,  bit  by  bit  the  plan 


ANOTHER   WAY   OF    LOVE.  179 

of  the  shelter  dawned  upon  me,  as  my  eyes 
grew  accustomed  to  the  dim  light. 

"  When  it  rains,"  she  said,  going  back  to 
my  question,  "  I  set  a  post  in  the  middle  for  a 
tent  pole,  spread  my  plaid  over  it  and  fasten  it 
down  at  the  sides  with  stones." 

"  Jonita,"  said  I,  "  does  your  sister  never 
come  up  hither  with  you?  " 

"Who — our  Jean!':  she  cried,  astonished, 
"faith,  no!  Jean  takes  better  with  the  inside 
of  a  box-bed  and  the  warmth  of  the  peat-gries- 
hoch*  on  the  hearth!  And,  indeed,  the  lass  is 
not  over-strong.  But  as  for  me,  more  than  the 
cheeping  of  the  house-mice,  I  love  the  chun- 
nering  of  the  wild  fowl  in  their  nests  and  the 
bleat  of  the  sheep.  These  are  honey  and  sweet- 
ness to  me." 

"  But,  Jonita,"  I  went  on,  "  surely  no  girl 
is  strong  enough  to  take  shower  and  wind- 
buffet  night  and  day  on  the  wild  moors  like 
this.  Why,  you  make  me  ashamed,  me  that 
am  born  and  bred  to  the  trade." 

"And  what  am  I?"  she  asked  sharply,  "I 
am  over  twenty,  and  yet  nothing  but  an  igno- 
rant lass  and  careless  of  seeming  otherwise.  I 
am  not  even  like  my  sister  Jean  that  can  look 

*  Red  ashes. 


jgo  the  standard  bearer. 

and  nod  as  if  she  understood  everything  your 
brother  is  talking  about,  knowing  all  the  while 
naught  of  the  matter.  But,  at  least,  I  ken  the 
ways  of  the  hills.     Feel  that!" 

She  thrust  her  arm  suddenly  out  to  me. 

I  clasped  it  in  my  hands,  sitting  meantime 
on  a  great  stone  in  the  angle,  while  she  stood 
beside  me  with  the  dogs  on  either  side  of  her. 
It  was  a  smooth,  well-rounded  arm,  cool  and 
delicate  of  skin,  that  she  gave  into  my  fingers. 
Her  loose  sleeve  fell  back,  and  if  I  had  dared 
to  follow  my  desire,  I  should  have  set  my  lips 
to  it,  so  delightful  did  the  touch  of  it  seem  to 
me.  But  I  refrained  me,  and  presently  under- 
neath the  satin  skin  I  felt  the  muscles  rise 
nobly,  tense  yet  easy,  clean  of  curve  and  spare 
flesh,  moulded  alike  for  strength  and  supple- 
ness. 

'  I  would  not  like  to  pull  at  the  swingle- 
tree  with  you,  my  lass,"  said  I,  "  and  if  it  came 
to  a  Keltonhill  collieshangie  I  would  rather 
have  you  on  my  side  than  against  me." 

And  I  think  she  was  more  pleased  at  that 
than  if  I  had  told  her  she  was  to  be  a  great 
heiress. 

As  I  waited  there  on  the  rough  stones  of 
the  sheepfold,  and  looked  at  the  slight  figure 


ANOTHER   WAY   OF   LOVE.  ^i 

sitting  frankly  and  easily  beside  me,  thinking, 
as  I  knew,  no  more  of  the  things  of  love  than 
if  she  had  been  a  neighbour  lad  of  the  hills,  a 
kind  of  jealous  anger  came  over  me. 

"  Jonita,"  said  I,  '  had  ye  never  a  sweet- 
heart?" 

"A  what?'1  cried  Jonita  in  a  tone  of  as 
much  surprise  as  if  I  had  asked  her  if  she  had 
ever  possessed  an  elephant. 

"  A  lad  that  loved  you  as  other  maids  are 
loved." 

"  I  have  heard  silly  boys  speak  nonsense," 
she  said,  "  but  I  am  no  byre-lass  to  be  touselled 
in  corners  by  every  night-raker  that  would 
come  visiting  at  the  Drumglass." 

"  Jonita,"  I  went  on,  "  hath  none  ever 
helped  you  with  your  sheep  on  the  hill,  run 
when  you  wanted  him,  stopped  when  you  told 
him,  come  like  a  collie  to  your  foot  when  he 
was  called?  " 

"  None,  I  tell  you,  has  ever  sat  where  you 
are  sitting,  Hob  MacClellan!  And  hear  ye  this, 
had  I  thought  you  a  silly  '  cuif '  like  the  rest, 
it  would  have  been  the  short  day  of  December 
and  the  long  again  before  I  had  asked  you  to 
view  my  bower  under  the  rock." 

"  I  was  only  asking,  Jonita,"  said  I;  "ye  ken 


182  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

that  ye  are  the  bonniest  lass  in  ten  parishes, 
and  to  me  it  seemed  a  strange  thing  that  ye 
shouldna  hae  a  lad." 

"  Bah,"  said  she,  "  lads  are  like  the  pebbles 
in  the  brook.  They  are  run  smooth  with  many 
experiences,  courting  here  and  flattering  there. 
What  care  I  whether  or  no  this  one  or  that 
comes  chapping  at  my  door?  There  are  plenty 
more  in  the  brook.  Besides,  are  there  not  the 
hills  and  the  winds  and  the  clear  stars  over  all, 
better  and  more  enduring  than  a  thousand 
sweethearts?  " 

'  But,"  said  I,  "  the  day  will  come,  Jonita, 
when  you  may  be  glad  of  the  friend's  voice, 
the  kindly  eye,  the  helping  hand,  the  arm  be- 
neath the  head " 

'  I  did  not  say  that  I  desired  to  have  no 
friends,"  she  said,  as  it  seemed  in  the  darkness, 
a  little  shyly. 

'Will  you  let  me  be  your  friend?"  I  said, 
impulsively,  taking  her  hand. 

'  I  do  not  know,"  said  Alexander- Jonita; 
'  I  will  tell  you  in  the  morning.  It  is  over- 
dark  to-night  to  see  your  eyes." 

'''  Can  you  not  believe?  "  said  I.  "  Have 
you  ever  heard  that  I  thus  offered  friendship  to 
any  other  maid  in  all  the  parish?  " 


ANOTHER   WAY   OF   LOVE.  ^3 

'  You  might  have  offered  it  to  twenty  and 
they  taken  it  every  one  for  aught  I  care.  But 
Alexander-Jonita  Gemmell  accepts  no  man's 
friendship  till  she  has  tried  him  as  a  fighter 
tries  a  sword." 

'  Then  try  me,  Jonita!  "  I  cried,  eagerly. 
'  I  will,"  said  she,  promptly;  "  rise  this  in- 
stant from  the  place  where  ye  sit,  look  not 
upon  me,  touch  me  not,  say  neither  good 
e'en  nor  yet  good-day,  but  take  the  straight 
road  and  the  ready  to  the  manse  of  Balmag- 
hie." 

The  words  were  scarce  out  of  her  mouth 
when  with  a  leap  so  quick  that  the  collies  had 
not  even  time  to  rise,  I  was  over  the  dyke  and 
striding  across  the  moss  and  whinstone-crag 
towards  the  house  by  the  waterside,  where  my 
brother's  light  had  long  been  burning  over 
his  books. 

I  did  not  so  much  as  look  about  me  till  I 
was  on  the  crest  of  the  hill.  Then  for  a  single 
moment  I  stood  looking  back  into  the  clear 
grey  bath  of  night  behind  me,  where  the  lass  I 
loved  was  keeping  her  watch  in  the  lonely 
sheepfold. 

Yet   I  was  pleased  with   myself  too.     For 

though  my  dismissal  had  been  so  swift  and  un- 
13 


1 84  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

expected,   I  felt  that  I  had  not  done  by  any 
means  badly  for  myself. 

At  least  I  could  call  Alexander-Jonita  my 
friend.  And  there  was  never  a  lad  upon  all 
the  hills  of  heather  that  could  do  so  much. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

MUTTERINGS    OF    STORM. 

(The  Narrative  of  Quintin  MacClellan  resumed.) 

It  was  a  day  of  high  summer  when  the 
anger  of  mine  enemies  drew  finally  to  a  head, 
and  that  within  mine  own  land  of  Balmaghie. 
The  Presbytery  were  in  the  habit  of  meeting 
at  a  place  a  little  way  from  the  centre  of  the 
parish,  called  Cullenoch — or,  as  one  would  say 
in  English,  "  The  Woodlands." 

In  twos  or  threes  they  came,  riding  side 
by  side  on  their  ponies,  or  appearing  singly  out 
of  some  pass  among  the  hills.  So,  as  I  say, 
the  Presbytery  assembled  at  Cullenoch,  and  the 
master  of  it,  Andrew  Cameron  of  Kirkcud- 
bright, was  there,  with  his  orders  from  wily 
Carstaires,  the  pope  of  the  restored  Kirk  of 
Scotland. 

To  this  day  I  can  see  his  aspect  as  he  rose 

up  among  the  brethren  with  a  great  roll  in  his 

185 


lS6  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

hand — solemn,  portentous,  full  of  suave,  easy- 
words  and  empty,  sonorous  utterances. 

"  Fathers  and  brethren,"  he  said,  looking 
on  us  with  a  comprehending  pity  for  our  feeble- 
ness of  capacity,  "  there  hath  come  that  from 
Her  Most  Noble  and  Christian  Majesty  the 
Queen  Anna,  which  it  behooves  us  to  treat 
with  all  the  respect  due  to  one  who  is  at  once 
the  Anointed  of  God,  and  also  as  the  fountain 
of  all  authority,  in  some  sense  also  the  Head 
of  the  Church!" 

As  he  finished  he  laid  upon  the  table  a  great 
parchment,  and  tapped  it  impressively  with  his 
ringer. 

'  It  is,  if  I  may  be  permitted  the  words,  the 
message  of  God's  vicegerent  upon  earth;  whom 
His  own  finger  has  especially  designed  to  rule 
over  us.  And  I  am  well  assured  that  no  one 
among  the  brethren  of  the  Presbytery  will  be 
so  ill-advised  as  not  at  once  to  sign  this  declara- 
tion of  our  submission  and  dutiful  obedience  to 
our  Liege  lady  in  all  things." 

This  he  uttered  soundingly,  with  much 
more  to  the  same  purpose,  standing  up  all  the 
time,  and  glowering  about  him  on  the  look-out 
for  contradiction. 

Then,  though  I  was  the  youngest  member 


MUTTERINGS   OF   STORM.  ^7 

of  the  Presbytery,  save  one,  I  felt  that  for  the 
ancient  liberty  of  the  Kirk  and  for  the  sake  of 
the  blood  shed  on  the  moors,  I  could  not  per- 
mit so  great  a  scandal  as  this  to  pass.  I  rose 
in  my  place,  whilst  Cameron  looked  steadily 
upon  me,  endeavouring  to  browbeat  me  into 
silence. 

Somewhat  thus  I  spoke: 

'  The  most  learned  and  reverend  brother 
brings  us  a  paper  to  sign — a  paper  which  we 
have  neither  seen  nor  yet  heard  read.  It  comes 
(he  tells  us)  from  the  Church's  head,  from 
God's  vicegerent.  It  is  to  be  received  with 
hushed  breath  and  bowed  knee.  '  The  Head 
of  the  Church!'  says  Mr.  Cameron — ah,  breth- 
ren, the  men  who  have  so  lately  entered  into 
rest  through  warring  stress,  sealed  with  their 
blood  the  testimony  that  the  Kirk  of  God  has 
no  head  upon  earth.  The  Kirk  of  Scotland  is 
the  Kirk  of  Jesus  Christ,  the  alone  King  and 
Head  of  the  Church.  The  Kirk  of  Scotland 
is  more  noble,  high  and  honourable  in  herself 
than  any  human  government.  She  alone  is 
God's  vicegerent.  She  alone  has  power  within 
her  own  borders  to  rule  her  own  affairs.  The 
Kirk  has  manv  faults,  but  at  least  she  will  surelv 
never  permit  herself  to  be  ruled  again  by  Privy 


l$$  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

Councils  and  self-seeking  state-craft.  Is  she 
not  the  Bride,  the  Lamb's  wife?  And  for  me, 
and  for  any  that  may  adhere  to  me,  we  will 
sign  no  test  nor  declaration  which  shall  put  our 
free  necks  beneath  the  yoke  of  any  temporal 
power,  nor  yet  for  fear  of  this  or  that  Queen's 
Majesty  deny  the  Name  that  is  above  every 
name." 

Whilst  these  words  were  put  into  my  heart 
and  spoken  by  my  voice,  I  seemed,  as  it  were, 
taken  possession  of.  A  voice  prompted  me 
what  I  was  to  speak.  I  heard  the  sound  of 
rushing  wings,  and  though  I  was  but  lately  a 
herd-lad  on  the  hills  of  sheep  I  knew  that  the 
time  had  come,  which  on  the  day  of  the  Killing 
on  the  Bennan  Top  I  had  seen  afar  off. 

Whilst  I  was  speaking,  Cameron  stood  im- 
patiently bending  the  tips  of  his  politic  fingers 
upon  the  document  on  the  table.  A  dark 
frown  had  been  gathering  on  his  brow. 

"This  is  treason,  black  treason!  It  is 
blank  defiance  of  the  Queen's  authority! ':  he 
cried;  "  I  will  not  listen  to  such  words.  It  is 
the  voice  of  a  man  who  would  raise  the  stand- 
ard of  rebellion,  and  disturb  the  peace  of  all  the 
parishes  of  our  Kirk,  recently  and  adequately 
settled  according  to  the  laws  of  the  land." 


MUTTERINGS   OF   STORM.  ^9 

But  I  had  yet  a  word  to  say. 

"  I  am  neither  rebel  nor  heretic,"  said  I;  "I 
am,  it  is  true,  the  youngest  and  the  least 
among  you.  But  even  I  am  old  enough  to 
have  seen  men  shot  like  running  deer  for  the 
liberties  of  the  Kirk  of  God.  I  have  heard  the 
whistle  of  the  deadly  bullet  flying  at  the  com- 
mand of  kings  and  queens  called  in  their  day 
Heads  of  the  Church.  I  have  seen  the  martyr 
fall,  and  his  blood  redden  the  ooze  of  the 
moss  hag.  We  have  heard  much  of  tests  and 
papers  to  sign,  of  allegiances  to  other  divine 
vicegerents  upon  earth,  even  to  such  Lord's 
anointeds  as  James  and  Charles,  the  father  and 
the  uncle  of  her  in  whose  name  the  Privy 
Council  of  Scotland  now  demands  this  most 
abject  submission.  But  for  myself  I  will  sign 
no  such  undertaking,  give  countenance  to  no 
bond  which  might  the  second  time  deliver  us 
who  have  fought  for  our  ancient  liberties  with 
weapons  in  our  hands,  bound  hand  and  foot  to 
the  powers  temporal — yea,  that  we  might  wrest 
the  powers  of  the  spiritual  arm  from  the  Son 
of  God  and  deliver  them  to  the  daughter  of 
James  Stuart." 

"  And  who  are  you,"  cried  Cameron,  "  thus 
to  teach  and  instruct  men  who  were  ministers 


190 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


when  you  were  but  a  bairn,  to  reprove  those 
who  have  wrought  in  sun  and  shine,  and  in 
gloom  and  darkness  alike,  to  make  the  Kirk 
of  Scotland  what  she  is  this  day?  ': 

There  was  a  noise  of  some  approval  among 
the  Presbytery.  I  knew,  however,  that  I  had 
small  sympathy  among  those  present,  men  fear- 
ful of  losing  their  pleasant  livings  and  fat  sti- 
pends. Nevertheless,  very  humbly  I  made  an- 
swer. '  It  is  not  Ouintin  MacClellan,  but  the 
word  he  speaks  that  cannot  be  gainsaid.  There 
is  also  an  old  saying  that  out  of  the  mouths  of 
babes  and  sucklings  God  expects  the  perfection 
of  praise." 

'''  Fool!  "  cried  Cameron,  "  ye  would  endan- 
ger and  cast  down  the  fair  fabric  of  this  Kirk 
of  Scotland,  ignorantly  pulling  down  what 
wiser  and  better  men  have  laboriously  built  up. 
Ye  are  but  a  child  throwing  stones  at  windows 
and  ready  to  run  when  the  glass  splinters. 
You  stand  alone  among  us,  sir — alone  in  Scot- 
land!" 

"  I  stand  no  more  alone,"  I  replied,  "  than 
your  brother  Richard  Cameron  did  at  Ayrs- 
moss  when  he  rode  into  the  broil  and  tumult 
of  battle  for  the  honour  of  the  Covenant.  The 
Banner  of  Christ's  cause  that  was  trampled  in 


MUTTERINGS   OF    STORM. 


I9I 


the  peat-brew  of  the  moss  of  Ayr,  is  a  worthier 
standard  than  the  rag  of  submission  which 
lies  upon  the  table  under  your  hand." 

Cameron  was  silent.  He  liked  not  the 
memory  of  his  great  brother.  I  went  on,  for 
the  man's  pliable  pitifulness  angered  me. 

"  Think  you  that  Richard  Cameron  would 
have  signed  words  like  these?  Aye,  I  think 
he  would.  But  it  would  have  been  with  his 
sword,  cutting  the  vile  bond  into  fragments, 
giving  them  to  the  winds,  and  strewing  them 
upon  the  waters." 

Then  the  Presbytery  would  hear  no  more, 
but  by  instant  vote  and  voice  they  put  me 
forth.  Yet  ere  I  went  from  their  midst,  I  cried, 
"  If  there  be  any  that  think  more  of  the  free- 
dom of  God's  Kirk  in  this  land  of  Scotland  than 
of  their  stipends  and  glebes,  let  them  come 
forth  with  me." 

And  two  there  were  who  rose  and  followed 
— Reid  of  Carsphairn,  a  man  zealous  and  far- 
seeing,  and  one  other,  a  young  minister  lately 
come  within  the  bounds. 

So  the  door  was  shut  upon  us,  and  they 
that  hated  us  were  left  to  concert  their  meas- 
ures without  let  or  hindrance. 


192 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


And  for  a  moment  we  three  clasped  hands 
without  the  door. 

"  Let  us  stand  by  each  other  and  the  word 
of  truth,"  I  said,  "  and  the  truth  shall  never 
make  us  ashamed." 


CHAPTER  XXL 

THE    EYES    OF    A    MAID. 

Now  throughout  all  the  parish,  aye,  and 
throughout  all  Galloway  there  arose  infinite 
noise  and  bruit  of  this  thing.  Specially  was 
there  the  buzz  of  anger  in  the  hill  parishes, 
where  the  men  who  had  lain  in  the  moss-hags 
and  fought  for  the  ancient  liberties  dwelt  thick- 
est— in  Carsphairn,  in  the  Glenkens,  and  in 
mine  own  Balmaghie. 

As  I  went  over  the  hill  from  farm-town  to 
farm-town  the  herds  would  cry  down  '  Well 
done!  "  from  among  the  sheep.  Old  men  who 
had  seen  the  high  days  of  the  Kirk  before  the 
fatal  home-coming  of  King  Charles;  rough, 
buirdly  men  who  had  done  their  share  of  hid- 
ing and  fighting  in  the  troubles;  young  men 
who,  like  myself,  had  heard  in  their  cradles  but 
the  murmur  of  the  fray,  came  to  shake  my  hand 
and  bid  me  strengthen  my  knees  and  stick  to 

my  testimony. 

193 


194 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


"  For,"  said  a  venerable  elder,  one  Anthony 
Lennox  of  the  Duchrae,  who  had  been  a  fa- 
mous man  in  the  sufferings,  "  this  is  the  very 
truth  for  which  we  bled.  We  asked  for  the 
kernel,  and  lo!  they  have  given  us  the  dry  and 
barren  husk.  We  fought  for  '  Christ's  Crown 
and  Covenant,'  and  they  have  sent  us  a  banner 
with  the  device — '  Queen  Anne's  Crown  and 
the  Test!'" 

But  I  think  that  the  women  were  even 
more  warmly  on  our  side,  for  the  canker  of  per- 
secution had  eaten  deeper  into  their  hearts,  that 
had  only  waited  and  mourned  while  their  men 
folk  were  out  suffering  and  fighting. 

"  Be  ye  none  feared,  laddie,"  said  Millicent 
Hannay,  an  ancient  dame  who  had  stood  the 
thumbikins  thrice  in  the  gaol  of  Kirkcudbright; 
4  the  most  part  of  the  ministers  may  stick  like 
burrs  to  their  manses  and  glebes,  their  tiends 
and  tithings.  But  if  so  be,  ye  are  thrust  forth 
into  the  wilderness,  ye  will  find  manna  there — 
aye,  and  water  from  the  rock  and  a  pillar  of 
fire  going  before  to  lead  you  out  again." 

But  nowhere  was  I  more  warmly  welcomed 
than  in  the  good  house  of  Drumglass.  The 
herd  lads  and  ploughmen  were  gathered  at  the 
house-end  when   I  came  up   the  loaning,  and 


THE   EYES   OF    A   MAID. 


195 


even  as  I  passed  one  of  them  came  forward 
with  his  blue  bonnet  in  his  hand. 

"  Fear  not,  sir,"  he  said,  with  a  kind  of  bold, 
self-respecting  diffidence  common  among  our 
Galloway  hinds.  "  I  speak  for  all  our  lads  with 
hearts  and  hands.  We  will  fight  for  you. 
Keep  the  word  of  your  testimony,  and  we  will 
sustain  you  and  stand  behind  you.  If  we  will 
unfurl  the  blue  banner  again,  we  will  plant  right 
deep  the  staff." 

And  from  the  little  group  of  stalwart  men 
at  the  barn-end  there  came  a  low  murmur  of 
corroboration,  "We  will  uphold  you!': 

Strange  as  it  is  to-day  to  think  on  these 
things  when  most  men  are  so  lukewarm  for 
principle.  But  in  those  days  the  embers  of  the 
fires  of  persecution  were  yet  warm  and  glow- 
ing, and  men  knew  not  when  they  might  again 
be  blown  up  and  fresh  fuel  added  thereto. 

"  Come  awa',"  cried  Nathan  Gemmell 
heartily,  from  where  he  sat  on  the  outer 
bench  of  moss-oak  by  the  door-cheek,  worn 
smooth  by  generations  of  sitters,  "  come  awa', 
minister,  and  tell  us  the  news.  Faith,  it  makes 
me  young-like  again  to  hear  there  is  still  a  man 
that  thinks  on  the  Covenants  and  the  blue  ban- 
ner wi'   the  denty  white  cross.     And   though 


I96  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

they  forget  the  auld  flag  noo,  I  hae  seen  it  gang 
stacherin'  doon  the  streets  o'  the  toon  o'  Edin- 
burg  wi'  a'  the  folk  cryin'  '  Up  \vi'  the  Kirk 
an'  doon  wi'  the  King! '  till  there  wasna  a  sod- 
jer-body  dare  show  his  face,  nor  a  King's  man 
to  be  found  between  the  Castle  and  the  Holy- 
rood  House.  Hech-hozv-aye!  auld  Drumglass 
has  seen  that. 

"  And  eke  he  saw  the  lads  that  were  pitten 
doon  on  the  green  Pentland  slopes  in  the  saxty- 
sax  start  frae  the  Clachan  o'  Saint  John  wi' 
hopes  that  were  high,  sharpening  their  bits  o' 
swords  and  scythes  to  withstand  the  guns  o' 
Dalzyell.  And  but  few  o'  them  ever  wan  back. 
But  what  o'  that?  It's  a  brave  thrang  there 
wad  be  about  heaven's  gates  that  day — the 
souls  o'  the  righteous  thranging  and  pressing 
to  win  through,  the  rejoicing  of  a  multitude 
that  had  washed  their  robes  and  made  them 
white  in  the  blood  o'  the  Lamb. 

"  Ow,  aye,  ye  wonder  at  me,  that  am  a  car- 
nal man,  speakin'  that  gate.  But  it  is  juist 
because  I  am  a  man  wha'  has  been  a  sore  sin- 
ner, that  I  wear  thae  things  sae  near  my  heart. 
My  time  is  at  hand.  Soon,  soon  will  auld 
Drumglass,  wastrel  loon  that  he  is,  be  thrown 
oot  like  a  useless  root  ower  the  wa'  and  carried 


THE   EYES   OF   A    MAID. 


197 


feet  foremost  from  out  his  chamber  door.  But 
if  it's  the  Lord's  will  "  (he  rose  to  his  feet  and 
shook  his  oaken  staff)  "  if  it's  the  Lord's  will, 
auld  Drumglass  wad  like  to  draw  the  blade  frae 
the  scabbard  yince  mair,  and  find  the  wecht  o' 
the  steel  in  his  hand  while  yet  his  auld  numb 
fingers  can  meet  aboot  the  basket  hilt. 

"  Oh,  I  ken,  I  ken;  ye  think  the  weapons 
of  our  warfare  are  not  to  be  swords  and  staves, 
minister — truth  will  fight  for  us,  ye  say. 

"  I  daresay  ye  are  right.  But  gin  the 
hoodie-craws  o'  the  Presbytery  come  wi'  swords 
and  staves  to  put  ye  forth  from  your  parish  and 
your  kindly  down-sitting,  ye  will  be  none  the 
worse  of  the  parcel  o'  braw  lads  ye  saw  at  the 
barn-end,  every  man  o'  them  wi'  a  basket-hilted 
blade  in  his  richt  hand  and  a  willing  Galloway 
heart  thump-thumpin'  high  wi'  itching  desire  to 
be  at  the  red  coaties  o'  the  malignants." 

Then  we  went  in,  and  there  by  the  fireside, 
looking  very  wistfully  out  of  her  meek  eyes  at 
me,  stood  the  young  lass,  Jean  Gemmell.  She 
came  forward  holding  out  her  hand,  saying  no 
word,  but  the  tears  still  wet  on  her  lashes — 
why,  I  know  not.  And  she  listened  as  her  fa- 
ther asked  of  the  doings  at  the  Presbytery, 
and  looked  eager  and  anxious  while  I  was  an- 


I98  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

swering.  Presently  Auld  Drumglass  went  forth 
on  some  errand  about  the  work  of  the  plough- 
lads,  and  the  lass  and  I  were  left  alone  together 
in  the  wide  kitchen. 

"  And  they  will  indeed  put  you  forth  out 
of  house  and  home?  ':  she  asked,  looking  at 
me  with  sweet,  reluctant  eyes,  the  eyes  of  a 
mourning  dove.  She  stood  by  the  angle  of  the 
hearth  where  the  broad  ingle-seat  begins.  I 
sat  on  her  father's  chair  where  he  had  placed 
me  and  looked  over  at  her.  A  comely  lass  she 
was,  with  her  pale  cheeks  and  a  blush  on  them 
that  went  and  came  responsive  to  the  beating 
of  her  heart. 

I  had  not  answered,  being  busy  with  look- 
ing at  her  and  thinking  how  I  wished  Mistress 
Mary  Gordon  had  been  as  gentle  and  biddable 
as  this  lass.  So  she  asked  again,  "  They  will 
not  put  you  forth  from  your  kirk  and  parish, 
will  they?" 

"  Nay,  that  I  know  not,"  I  said,  smiling; 
"  doubtless  they  will  try." 

"  Oh,  I  could  not  listen  to  another  minister 
after " 

She  stopped  and  sighed. 

It  was  in  my  mind  to  rebuke  her,  and  to 
bid  her  remember  that   the  Word   of  God  is 


THE   EYES   OF   A   MAID. 


I99 


not  confined  to  any  one  vessel  of  clay,  but  just 
then  she  put  her  hand  to  her  side,  and  went 
withal  so  pale  that  I  could  not  find  it  in  my 
heart  to  speak  harshly  to  the  young  lass. 

Then  I  told  her,  being  stirred  within  me 
by  her  emotion,  of  the  two  who  had  stood  by 
me  in  the  Presbytery,  and  how  little  hope  I 
had  that  they  would  manfully  see  it  out  to  the 
end. 

"  Tis  a  fight  that  I  must  fight  alone,"  I 
said. 

For  I  knew  well  that  it  would  come  to 
that,  and  that  so  soon  as  the  affair  went  past 
mere  empty  words  those  two  who  had  stood  at 
my  shoulder  would  fall  behind  or  be  content 
to  bide  snugly  at  home. 

"  Not  alone!  "  said  the  young  lass,  quickly, 
and  moved  a  step  towards  me  with  her  hand 
held  out.  Then,  with  a  deep  and  burning 
blush,  her  maiden  modesty  checked  her,  and 
she  stood  red  like  a  July  rose  in  the  clear 
morning. 

She  swayed  as  if  she  would  have  fallen,  and, 
leaping  up  quickly,  I  caught  her  in  my  arms 
ere  she  had  time  to  fall. 

Her    eyes    were    closed.     The    blood    had 

ebbed  from  her  face  and  left  her  pale  to  the 
14 


2QO  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

very  lips.  I  stood  with  her  light  weight  in  my 
arms,  thrilling  strangely,  for,  God  be  my  judge, 
never  woman  had  lain  there  before. 

Presently  she  gave  a  long  snatching  breath 
and  opened  her  eyes.  I  saw  the  tears  gather  in 
them  as  her  head  lay  still  and  lax  in  the  hollow 
of  my  arm.  The  drops  did  not  fall,  but  rather 
gathered  slowly  like  wells  that  are  fed  from  be- 
neath. 

"  You  will  not  go  away?  "  she  said,  and  at 
last  lifted  her  lashes,  with  a  little  pearl  shining 
wet  on  each,  like  a  swallow  that  has  dipped  her 
wings  in  a  pool. 

Then,  because  I  could  not  help  it,  I  did 
that  which  I  had  never  done  to  any  woman 
born  of  woman:  I  stooped  and  kissed  the  wet 
sweet  eyes.  And  then,  ere  I  knew  it,  with  a 
little  cry  of  frightened  joy,  the  girl's  arms  were 
about  me.  She  lifted  up  her  face,  and  kissed 
me  again  and  again  and  yet  again. 

When  I  came  to  myself  I  was  conscious  of 
another  presence  in  the  kitchen.  I  looked  up 
quickly,  and  there  before  me,  standing  with  an 
ash  switch  swaying  in  her  hand,  was  Alexander- 
Jonita.  I  had  not  supposed  that  she  could 
have  looked  so  stern. 


THE   EYES   OF   A   MAID.  2OI 

ft  Well?  "  she  said,  as  if  waiting  for  my  ex- 
planation. 

"I  love  your  sister,"  I  replied;  for  indeed, 
though  I  had  not  thought  thus  of  the  mat- 
ter before,  there  seemed  nothing  else  to  be 
said. 

But  the  face  of  Alexander-Jonita  did  not  re- 
lax. She  stood  gazing  at  her  sister,  whose 
head  rested  quiet  and  content  on  my  shoulder. 

"  Jean,"  she  said  at  last,  '  knowing  that 
which  you  know,  why  have  you  done  this?  ' 

The  girl  lifted  her  head,  and  looked  at  Jo- 
nita  with  a  kind  of  glad  defiance. 

'  Sister,"  she  said,  "  you  do  not  understand 
love.  How  should  you  know  what  one  would 
do  for  love?  " 

'  You  love  my  sister  Jean?  "  Jonita  began 
again,  turning  to  me  with  a  sharpness  in  her 
words  like  the  pricking  of  a  needle's  point. 

'  Yes!  "  I  answered,  but  perhaps  a  little  un- 
certainly. 

'  Did  you  know  as  much  when  you  came 
into  the  kitchen?  " 

"  No,"  said  I. 

For  indeed  I  knew  not  what  to  answer, 
never  having  been  thus  tangled  up  with  wom- 
en's affairs  in  my  life  before. 


202  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

"  I  thought  not,"  said  Jonita,  curtly.  Then 
to  Jean,  "How  did  this  come  about? ':  she 
said. 

Jean  lifted  her  head,  her  face  being  lily-pale 
and  her  body  swaying  a  little  to  me. 

"  I  thought  he  would  go  away  and  that  I 
should  never  see  him  again!''  she  replied,  a 
little  pitifully,  with  the  quavering  thrill  of  un- 
shed tears  in  her  voice. 

"  And  you  did  this  knowing — what  you 
know!  "  said  Jonita  again,  sternly. 

"  I  saw  him  first,"  said  Jean,  a  little  obsti- 
nately, looking  down  the  while. 

Her  sister  flushed  crimson. 

"  Oh,  lassie,"  she  cried,  "  ye  will  drive  me 
mad  with  your  whims  and  foolish  speeches; 
what  matters  who  saw  him  first?  Ye  ken  well 
that  ye  are  not  fit  to  be " 

"  She  is  fit  to  be  my  wife,"  I  said,  for  I 
thought  that  this  had  gone  far  enough;  "she 
is  fit  to  be  my  wife,  and  my  wife  she  shall  surely 
be  if  she  will  have  me!  " 

With  a  little  joyful  cry  Jean  GemmeH's  arms 
went  about  my  neck,  and  her  wet  face  was  hid- 
den in  my  breast.  It  lay  there  quiet  a  moment; 
then  she  lifted  it  and  looked  with  a  proud,  still 
defiance  at  her  sister. 


THE   EYES   OF   A   MAID.  203 

Alexander-Jonita  lifted  up  her  hands  in 
hopeless  protest. 

She  seemed  about  to  say  more,  but  all  sud- 
denly she  changed  her  mind. 

"  So  be  it,"  she  said.  "  After  all,  'tis  none 
of  my  business!  " 

And  with  that  she  turned  and  went  out 
through  the  door  of  the  kitchen. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

THE    ANGER    OF    ALEXANDER-JONITA. 

(Comment  and  Addition  by  Hob  MacClellan.) 

I  met  my  lass  Jonita  that  night  by  the 
sheep-fold  on  the  hill.  It  was  not  yet  sun- 
down, but  the  spaces  of  the  heavens  had  slowly 
grown  large  and  vague.  The  wind  also  had 
gradually  died  away  to  a  breathing  stillness. 
The  scent  of  the  bog-myrtle  was  in  our  nos- 
trils, as  if  the  plant  itself  leaned  against  our 
faces. 

I  had  been  waiting  a  long  time  ere  I  heard 
her  come,  lissomly  springing  from  tuft  to  tuft 
of  grass  and  whistling  that  bonny  dance  tune, 
"  The  Broom  o'  the  Cowdenknowes."  But 
even  before  I  looked  up  I  caught  the  trouble 
in  her  tones.  She  whistled  more  shrilly  than 
usual,  and  the  liquid  fluting  of  her  notes,  mel- 
low mostly  like  those  of  the  blackbird,  had  now 

an  angrv  ring. 
204 


THE   ANGER   OF   ALEXANDER-JONITA.      205 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Alexander-Jonita?  " 
I  cried,  e'er  I  had  so  much  as  set  eyes  on 
her. 

The  whistling  ceased  at  my  question.  She 
came  near,  and  leaning  her  elbows  on  the  dyke, 
she  regarded  me  sternly. 

"  Then  you  know  something  about  it?  "  she 
said,  looking  at  me  between  the  eyes,  her  own 
narrowed  till  they  glinted  wintry  and  keen  as 
the  gimlet-tool  wherewith  the  joiner  bores  his 
holes. 

"  Has  your  father  married  the  dairymaid, 
or  Meg  the  pony  cast  a  shoe?  "  I  asked  of  her, 
with  a  lightness  I  did  not  feel. 

"  Tut,"  she  cried,  "  'tis  the  matter  of  your 
brother,  as  well  you  know." 

"  What  of  my  brother?  " 

"  Wiry,  our  silly  Jean  has  made  eyes  at  him, 
and  let  the  salt  water  fall  on  the  breast  of  his 
black  minister's  coat.  And  now  the  calf  de- 
clares that  he  loves  her!  " 

I  stood  up  in  sharp  surprise. 

"  He  no  more  loves  her  than — than " 

"Than  you  love  me,"  said  Alexander-Jo- 
nita; "  I  know — drive  on!  " 

I  did  not  notice  her  evil-conditioned  jibe. 

"  Why,  Jonita,  he  has  all  his  life  been  in 


206  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

love  with  the  Lady  Mary — the  Bull  of  Earls- 
toun's  daughter." 

Alexander-Jonita  nodded  pensively. 

"  Even  so  I  thought,"  she  said,  "  but,  as  I 
guess,  Mary  Gordon  has  sent  him  about  his 
business,  and  so  he  has  been  taken  with  our 
poor  Jean's  puling  pussydom.  God  forgive 
me  that  I  should  say  so  much  of  a  dying 
woman." 

"  A  dying  woman!  "  cried  I,  "  there  is  noth- 
ing the  matter  with  Jean." 

Alexander-Jonita  shook  her  head. 

"  Jean  is  not  long  for  this  world,"  she  said, 
"  I  bid  you  remember.  Saw  you  ever  the  red 
leap  through  the  white  like  yon,  save  when 
the  life  burns  fast  to  the  ashes  and  the  pulse 
beats  ever  more  light  and  weak?  " 

'  And  how  long  hath  this  thing  been 
afoot?" 

'  Since  the  day  of  your  brother's  first 
preaching,  when  to  save  her  shoon  Jean  must 
needs  go  barefoot  and  wash  her  feet  in  the  burn 
that  slips  down  by  the  kirkyard  wall." 

'  That  was  the  day  Quintin  first  spoke  with 
her,  when  she  gave  him  her  nooning  piece  of 
bread  to  stay  his  hunger." 

"Aye,"  said  Alexander-Jonita;  "  better  had 


THE   ANGER   OF   ALEXANDER-JONITA.      207 

he  gone  hungry  all  sermon-time  than  eaten  of 
our  Jean's  piece." 

"For  shame,  Alexander- Jonita! ':  I  cried, 
"  and  a  double  shame  to  speak  thus  of  a  lassie 
that  is,  by  your  own  tale,  dying  on  her  feet — 
and  your  sister  forbye.  I  believe  that  ye  are 
but  jealous!  " 

She  flamed  up  in  sudden  anger.  If  she  had 
had  a  knife  or  a  pistol  in  her  hand,  I  believe 
she  would  have  killed  me. 

'  Get  out  of  our  ewe-buchts  before  I  twist 
your  impudent  neck,  Hob  MacClellan! "  she 
cried.  '  I  care  not  a  docken  for  any  man  alive 
— least  of  all  for  you  and  your  brother.  Yet 
I  thought,  from  what  I  heard  of  his  doings  at 
the  Presbytery,  that  he  was  more  of  a  man  than 
any  of  you.  But  now  I  see  that  he  is  feckless 
and  feeble  like  the  rest." 

"  Ah,  Jonita,  you  snooded  folk  tame  us  all. 
From  David  the  King  to  Hob  MacClellan  there 
is  no  man  so  wise  but  a  woman  may  tie  him  in 
knots  about  her  little  finger." 

'  I  thought  better  of  your  brother!  "  she 
said  more  mildly,  her  anger  dying  away  as 
suddenly  as  it  had  risen,  and  I  think  she 
sighed. 

"  But  not  better  of  me!  "  I  said. 


2o8  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

She  looked  at  me  with  contempt,  but  yet 
a  contempt  mightily  pleasant. 

"  Good  e'en  to  ye,  Hob,"  she  cried.  '  I  was 
not  so  far  left  to  myself  as  to  think  about  you 
at  all!" 

And  with  that  she  took  her  light  plaid  over 
her  arm  with  a  saucyish  swirl,  and  whistling  on 
her  dogs,  she  swung  down  the  hill,  carrying,  if 
you  please,  her  shoulders  squared  and  her  head 
in  the  air  like  a  young  conceited  birkie  going 
to  see  his  sweetheart. 

And  then,  when  the  thing  became  public, 
what  a  din  there  was  in  the  parish  of  Balmag- 
hie!  Only  those  who  know  the  position  of  a 
young  minister  and  the  interest  in  his  doings 
can  imagine.  It  was  somewhat  thus  that  the 
good  wives  wagged  their  tongues. 

'  To  marry  Jean  Gemmell!  Aye,  juist  poor 
Jean,  the  shilpit,  pewlin'  brat  that  never  did  a 
hand's  turn  in  her  life,  indoor  or  oot!  Fegs,  a 
bonny  wife  she  will  mak'  to  him.  Apothe- 
caries' drugs  and  red  claret  wine  she  maun  hae 
to  leeve  on.  A  bonnie  penny  it  will  cost  him, 
gin  ever  she  wins  to  the  threshold  o'  his  manse! 

"  But  she's  no  there  yet,  kimmer!  Na — 
certes  no!  I  mind  o'  her  mither  weel.  Jean 
was  her  name,  too,  juist  sich  anither  '  cloyt ' — 


THE  ANGER   OF   ALEXANDER-JONITA.     2OQ 

a  feckless,  white-faced  bury-me-decent,  withoot 
as  muckle  spirit  as  wad  gar  her  turn  a  sow  oot 
o'  the  kail-yard.  And  a'  the  kin  o'  her  were 
like  her — no  yin  to  better  anither.  There 
was  her  uncle  Jacob  Ahanny  a'  the  Risk;  he 
keepit  in  wi'  the  Government  in  the  auld 
Persecution,  and  when  Clavers  cam'  to  the  door 
and  asked  him  what  religion  he  was  o',  he  said 
that  the  estate  had  changed  hands  lately,  and 
that  he  hadna  had  time  to  speer  at  the  new 
laird.  And  at  that  Clavers  laughed  and 
laughed,  and  it  wasna  often  that  Jockie  Gra- 
ham did  the  like.  Fegs  no,  kimmers!  But  he 
clappit  Jacob  on  the  shooder.  '  Puir  craitur,' 
quo'  he;  'ye  are  no  the  stuff  that  rebels  are 
made  o'.  Na,  there's  nocht  o'  Richie  Cameron 
aboot  you.'  " 

"  Aye,  faith,  do  ye  tell  me,  and  Jean  is  to 
mairry  the  minister,  and  him  sae  bauld  and 
croose  before  the  Presbytery.  What  deil's  can- 
trip can  hae  ta'en  him?  " 

"  Hoot,  Mary  McKeand,  I  wonder  to  hear 
ye.  Do  ye  no  ken  that  the  baulder  and  greater 
a  man  the  easier  a  woman  can  get  round  him?  " 

"Aweel,  even  sae  I  hae  heard.  I  wish  oor 
Jock  was  a  great  man,  then;  I  could  maybe, 
keep  him  awa'   frae   the  change-hoose  in   the 


210  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

clachan.  But  the  minister,  he  had  far  better 
hae  ta'en  yon  wild  sister " 

'  Her?  1'se  warrant  she  wadna  look  at 
him.  She  doesna  even  gang  to  Balmaghie 
Kirk  to  hear  him  preach." 

"  Mary  McKeand,  hae  ye  come  to  your  age 
withoot  kennin,  that  the  woman  that  wad  re- 
fuse the  minister  o'  a  parish  when  he  speers 
her,  hasna  been  born?  " 

"  Aweel,  maybe  no!  But  kimmer  harken  to 
me,  there's  mony  an  egg  laid  in  the  nest  that 
never  leeved  to  craw  in  the  morn.  Him  and 
her  are  no  married  yet.     Hoot  na,  woman!  " 

•  •••••• 

And  so  without  further  eavesdropping  I 
took  my  way  out  of  the  clachan  of  Pluckamin, 
and  left  the  good  wives  to  arrange  my  brother's 
future.  I  had  not  yet  spoken  to  him  on  the 
subject,  but  I  resolved  to  do  so  that  very  night. 

It  was  already  well  upon  the  grey  selvage 
of  the  dark  when  I  strode  up  the  manse-loan- 
ing, intent  to  have  the  matter  out  with  my 
brother  forthwith.  It  was  not  often  that  I 
took  it  on  me  to  question  him;  for  after  all  I 
was  but  a  landward  lout  by  comparison  with 
him.  I  understood  little  of  the  high  aims  and 
purposes  that  inspired  him,  being  at  best  but 


THE   ANGER   OF   ALEXANDER-JONITA.      2II 

a  plain  country  lad  with  my  wits  a  little  sharp- 
ened by  the  giff-gaff  of  the  pedlar's  trade. 
But  when  it  came  to  the  push  I  think  that 
Quintin  had  some  respect  for  my  opinion — 
all  the  more  that  I  so  seldom  troubled  him 
with  it. 

I  found  my  brother  in  the  little  gable-room 
where  he  studied,  with  the  window  open  that 
he  might  hear  the  sough  of  the  soft-flowing 
river  beneath,  and  perhaps  also  that  the  drowsy 
hum  of  the  bees  and  the  sweet-sour  smell  of  the 
hives  might  drift  in  to  him  upon  the  balmy  air 
of  night. 

The  minister  had  a  great  black-lettered 
book  propped  up  before  him,  which  from  its 
upright  thick  and  thin  letters  (like  pea-sticks 
dibbled  in  the  ground)  I  knew  to  be  Hebrew. 
But  I  do  not  think  he  read  in  it,  nor  gath- 
ered much  lear  for  his  Sabbath's  sermon. 

He  looked  up  as  I  came  in. 

"  Quintin,"  said  I,  directly,  lest  by  waiting 
I  should  lose  courage,  "  are  you  to  marry  Jean 
Gemmell?  " 

He  kept  his  eyes  straight  upon  me,  as  indeed 
he  did  ever  with  whomsoever  he  spake. 

"Aye,  Hob,"  he  said,  quietly;  "have  ye 
any  word  to  say  against  that?  " 


212  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  have,"  I  answered, 
"  but  what  will  Mary  Gordon  say?  ' 

I  could  see  him  wince  like  one  that  is 
touched  on  an  unhealed  wound. 

But  he  recovered  himself  at  once,  and  said 
calmly,  "  She  will  say  nothing,  feel  nothing, 
care  nothing." 

"  I  am  none  so  sure  of  that,"  said  I,  looking 
as  straightly  at  him  as  ever  he  did  at  me. 

He  started  up,  one  hand  on  the  table,  his 
long  hair  thrown  back  with  a  certain  jerk  he 
had  when  he  was  touched,  which  made  him 
look  like  a  roused  lion  that  stands  at  bay. 
"  By  what  right  do  ye  speak  thus,  Hob  Mac- 
Clellan?" 

'  By  the  right  of  that  which  I  know,""  said 
I;  "  but  a  man  who  will  pull  up  the  seed  which 
he  has  just  planted,  and  cast  it  away  because 
he  finds  not  ripened  ears,  deserves  to  starve  all 
his  life  on  sprouted  and  musty  corn." 

'  Riddle  me  no  riddles,"  said  my  brother, 
knocking  on  the  table  with  his  palm  till  the 
great  Hebrew  book  slid  from  its  prop  and  fell 
heavily  to  the  floor;  "  this  is  too  terrible  a  ven- 
ture.    Speak  plainly  and  tell  me  all  you  mean." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  the  matter  is  not  all  mine 
to  tell.     But  you  are  well  aware  that  Hob  Mac- 


THE   ANGER    OF   ALEXANDER-JONITA.      213 

Clellan  can  hold  his  peace,  and  is  no  gossip- 
monger.  I  tell  you  that  when  you  went  from 
Earlstoun  the  last  time  the  Lady  Mary  went  to 
the  battlement  tower  to  watch  you  go,  and 
came  down  with  her  kerchief  wringing  with  her 
tears." 

'  It  is  a  thing  impossible,  mad,  incredible!  " 
said  he,  putting  his  elbow  on  the  table  and  his 
hand  to  his  eyes  as  if  he  had  been  looking  into 
the  glare  of  an  overpowering  sun.  Yet  there 
was  hardly  enough  light  in  the  little  room  for 
us  to  see  one  another  by.  After  a  long  silence 
Quintin  turned  to  me  and  said,  "  Tell  me  how 
ye  came  to  ken  this." 

'  That,"  said  I,  bluntly,  "  is  not  a  matter 
that  can  concern  you.  But  know  it  I  do,  or 
I  should  not  have  troubled  you  with  the  mat- 
ter." 

At  this  he  gave  a  wild  kind  of  throat  cry 
that  I  never  heard  before.  It  was  the  driven, 
throttled  cry  of  a  man's  agony,  once  heard, 
never  forgotten.  Would  that  Mary  Gordon 
had  hearkened  to  it!  It  is  the  one  thing  no 
woman  can  stand.  It  either  melts  or  terrifies 
her.     But  with  another  man  it  is  different. 

"  Ah,  you  have  troubled  me — you  have 
troubled   me   sore! "   he   cried.     And   with   no 


214 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


more  than  that  he  left  me  abruptly  and  went 
out  into  the  night.  I  looked  through  the  win- 
dow and  saw  him  marching  up  and  down  by 
the  kirk,  on  a  strip  of  greensward  for  which 
he  had  ever  a  liking.  It  was  pitiful  to  watch 
him.  He  walked  fast  like  one  that  would  have 
run  away  from  melancholy  thoughts,  turning 
ever  when  he  came  opposite  the  low  tomb-stone 
of  the  two  martyr  Hallidays.  He  was  bare- 
headed, and  I  feared  the  chilling  night  dews. 
So  I  lifted  down  his  minister's  hat  from  the 
deer's  horn  by  the  hallan  door  and  took  it  out 
to  him. 

At  first  he  did  not  see  me,  being  enwrapped 
in  his  own  meditations,  and  it  was  only  when 
a  couple  of  blackbirds  flew  scolding  out  of  the 
lilac  bushes  that  he  heard  my  foot  and  turned. 

"  Man  Hob,"  he  said,  speaking  just  the 
plain  country  speech  he  used  to  do  at  Ardar- 
roch,  before  ever  he  went  to  the  college  of 
Edinburgh,  "  it's  an  awfu'  thing  that  a  man 
should  care  mair  for  the  guid  word  of  a  lass 
than  about  the  grace  o'  God  and  the  Coven- 
anted Kirk  of  Scotland!  " 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

AT    BAY. 

{The  Narrative  of  Quintin  MacClcllan  is  resumed.) 

Dark  was  the  day,  darker  the  night.  The 
matters  which  had  sundered  me  from  the  Pres- 
bytery mended  not — nor,  indeed,  was  it  pos- 
sible to  mend  them,  seeing  that  they  and  I 
served  different  gods,  followed  other  purposes. 

It  was  bleak  December  when  the  brethren 
of  the  Presbytery  arrived  to  make  an  end  of 
me  and  my  work  in  the  parish  of  Balmaghie. 
They  came  with  their  minds  made  up.  They 
alone  were  my  accusers.  They  were  also  my 
sole  judges.  As  for  me,  I  was  as  set  and  deter- 
mined as  they  were.  I  refused  their  jurisdic- 
tion. I  utterly  contemned  their  authority. 
To  me  they  were  but  mites  in  the  cheese,  pot- 
tle-bellied batteners  on  the  heritage  and  patri- 
mony of  the  Kirk  of  Scotland.  Siller  and  acres 
spelled  all  their  desires,  chalders  and  tiends  con- 
tained all  the  rounded  tale  of  their  ambitions. 
15  215 


2i6  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

But  for  all  that,  now  that  I  am  older,  I  can 
scarce  blame  them — at  least,  not  so  sorely  as 
once  I  did. 

For  to  them  I  was  the  youngest  of  them 
all,  the  least  in  years  and  learning,  the  smallest 
in  influence — save,  perhaps,  among  the  Rem- 
nant who  still  thought  about  the  things  of  the 
Kirk  and  her  spiritual  independence. 

I  was  to  the  Presbytery  of  Kirkcudbright 
but  the  troubler  of  Israel,  the  disturber  of  a 
quiet  Zion.  Save  for  poor  Quintin  MacClellan, 
the  watchman  might  have  gone  from  tower  to 
tower  along  ramparts  covered  and  defended, 
and  his  challenge  of  'What  of  the  night? ': 
have  received  its  fitting  answer  from  this  point 
and  that  about  the  city,  "  The  morning  com- 
eth!     All  is  well!" 

Yet  because  of  the  Lad  in  the  Brown  Coat 
with  his  dead  face  sunk  in  the  Bennan  flowe 
I  could  not  consent  to  putting  the  Kirk  of 
Scotland,  once  free  and  independent,  under  the 
control,  real  or  nominal,  the  authority,  overt 
or  latent,   of  any  monarch  in   Christendom. 

More  than  to  my  fathers,  more  than  to  my 
elders  it  seemed  to  me  that  the  old  ways  were 
the  true  ways,  and  that  kings  and  governments 
had  never  meddled  with  religion  save  to  lay 


AT   BAY.  217 

waste  the  vineyard  and  mar  the  bridal  portion 
of  the  Kirk  of  God. 

But  all  men  know  the  cause  of  the  struggle 
and  what  were  the  issues.  I  will  choose  to  tell 
rather  the  tale  of  a  man's  shame  and  sorrow — 
his,  indeed,  who  had  taken  the  Banner  of  the 
Covenant  into  unworthy  hands,  yet  time  after 
time  had  let  it  fall  in  the  dust.  Nevertheless, 
at  the  hinder  end,  I  lived  to  see  it  set  again  in 
a  strong  base  of  unhewn  stone,  fixed  as  the 
foundations  of  the  earth.  Nor  shall  the  golden 
scroll  of  it  ever  be  defaced  nor  the  covenant  of 
the  King  of  kings  be  broken. 

So  on  the  day  of  trial,  from  all  the  parishes 
of  the  Presbytery  east  and  west,  gathered  the 
men  who  had  constituted  themselves  my  judges 
— nay,  the  men  who  were  already  my  condem- 
nators.  For  Cameron  had  my  sentence  in  his 
pocket  before  ever  one  of  the  brethren  set  a 
foot  over  his  doorstep,  or  threw  a  leg  across 
the  back  of  his  ambling  sheltie. 

I  had  judged  it  best  to  be  quiet  and  staid 
in  demeanour,  and  had  gone  about  to  quiet 
and  persuade  the  folk  of  Balmaghie,  who  were 
eager  to  hold  back  the  hunters  from  their  prey. 

The  Presbytery  had  sent  to  bid  me  preach 


2i8  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

before  them,  even  as  the  soldiers  of  the  guard 
had  bidden  Christ  prophesy  unto  them,  that 
they  might  have  occasion  to  smite  Him  the 
oftener  on  the  mouth.  So  when  I  came  before 
them  they  posed  me  with  interrogatories, 
threatened  me  with  penalties,  and  finally  set 
me  to  conduct  service  before  them,  that  they 
might  either  condemn  me  if  I  refused,  alleging 
contumacy;  or,  on  the  other  hand,  if  I  did  as 
they  bade  me,  they  would  easily  find  occasion 
to  condemn  the  words  of  my  mouth. 

Then  I  saw  that  though  there  was  no  way 
to  escape  their  malice,  yet  there  was  a  way  to 
serve  the  cause. 

So  I  went  up  into  the  pulpit  after  the  folk 
had  been  assembled,  and  addressed  myself  to 
them  just  as  if  it  had  been  an  ordinary  Sabbath 
day  and  the  company  met  only  for  the  worship 
of  God. 

For  I  minded  the  word  which  my  good  Re- 
gent, Dr.  Campbell,  had  spoken  to  me  in  Edin- 
burgh ere  I  was  licensed  to  preach,  or  thought 
that  one  day  I  myself  should  be  the  carcase 
about  which  the  ravens  should  gather. 

'  When  ye  preach,"  said  Professor  Camp- 
bell, "be  sure  that  ye  heed  not  the  five  wise 
men!  " 


AT   BAY. 


219 


So  I  minded  that  word,  and  seeing  the  folk 
gathered  together,  I  cast  my  heavy  burden 
from  me,  and  called  them  earnestly  to  the  wor- 
ship of  Him  who  is  above  all  courts  and  assem- 
blies. 

Then  in  came  Cameron,  the  leader  of  their 
faction,  jowled  with  determination  and  rosy- 
gilled  with  good  cheer  and  the  claret  wine  of 
St.  Mary's  Isle.  With  him  was  Boyd,  also  a 
renegade  from  the  Society  Hill  Folk.  For 
with  their  scanty  funds  the  men  of  the  moss- 
hags  had  sent  these  two  as  students  to  Hol- 
land to  gather  lear  that  they  might  thereafter 
be  their  ministers.  But  now,  when  they  had 
gotten  them  comfortable  down-sittings  in  plen- 
teous parishes,  they  turned  with  the  bitter  zest 
of  the  turncoat  to  the  hunting  ot  one  who  ad- 
hered to  their  own  ancient  way. 

But  though  I  could  have  reproached  them 
with  this  and  with  much  else,  I  judged  that 
because  they  were  met  in  the  Kirk  of  God  no 
tumult  should  be  made,  at  least  till  they  had 
shown  the  length  and  breadth  and  depth  of 
their  malice. 

Then,  when  at  the  last  I  stood  single  and 
alone  at  their  bar  and  was  ready  to  answer  their 
questions,  they  could  bring  nothing  against  me, 


220  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

save  that  I  had  refused  their  jurisdiction.  Their 
suborned  witnesses  failed  them.  For  there  was 
none  in  all  the  parish  who  wished  me  ill,  and 
certainly  none  that  dared  testify  a  word  in  the 
midst  of  the  angry  people  that  day  in  the  Kirk 
of  Balmaghie. 

'  Have  ye  naught  to  allege  against  my  life 
and  conduct?"  I  asked  of  them  at  last.  "Ye 
have  set  false  witnesses  to  follow  me  from  place 
to  place  and  wrest  my  words.  Ye  have  spied 
here  and  there  in  the  houses  of  my  people.  Ye 
have  tried  to  entrap  my  elders.  Is  there  no 
least  thing  that  ye  can  allege?  For  three  years 
I  have  come  and  gone  in  and  out  among  this 
folk  of  Balmaghie.  I  have  companioned  with 
you.  I  have  sat  in  your  meetings.  I  have  not 
been  silent.  Ye  have  watched  me  with  the 
eyes  of  the  greedy  gled.  Ye  have  harkened 
and  waited  and  sharpened  claws  for  me  as  a  cat 

does  at  a  mouse-hole " 

"  Will  ye  submit  and  sign  the  submission 
here  and  now? ':  interrupted  Cameron,  who 
liked  not  the  threatening  murmur  of  approba- 
tion which  began  to  run  like  wild-fire  among 
the  folk. 

'  There  is  One,"  answered  I,  the  words  be- 
ing as  it  had  been  given  to  me,  "  whose  praise 


AT    BAY.  221 

is  perfected  out  of  the  mouths  of  babes.  It  is 
true  that  among  you  I  am  like  a  young  child 
without  power  or  wisdom.  Ye  are  great  and 
learned,  old  in  years  and  full  of  reverence.  But 
this  one  thing  a  young  man  can  do.  He  can 
stand  by  the  truth  ye  have  deserted,  and  lift 
again  the  banner  staff  ye  have  cast  in  the  mire. 
As  great  Rutherford  hath  said,  '  Christ  may 
ride  upon  a  windle  straw  and  not  stumble.' 

Then  I  turned  about  to  the  people,  when 
the  Presbytery  would  have  restrained  me  from 
further  speech. 

"Ye  folk  of  this  parish,"  I  said,  "what 
think  ye  of  this  matter?  Shall  your  minister 
be  thrust  out  from  among  you?  Shall  he  bow 
the  head  and  bend  the  knee?  Must  he  let 
principle  and  truth  go  by  the  board  and  whistle 
down  the  wind?  I  think  ye  know  him  better. 
Aye,  truly,  this  parish  and  people  would  have 
a  bonny  bird  of  him,  a  brave  minister,  indeed — 
if  he  submitted  before  being  cleared  of  that 
whereof,  all  unjustly,  his  enemies  have  accused 
him,  setting  him  up  in  the  presence  of  his  people 
like  a  felon  in  the  dock  of  judgment! ': 

Then  indeed  there  was  confusion  among  the 
black-coated  ravens  who  had  come  to  gloat 
over  the  feast.     I  had  insulted  (so  they  cried) 


222  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

their  honourable  and  reverend  court.  I  had 
refused  a  too  lenient  and  condescending  ac- 
commodation. Thus  they  prated,  as  if  long 
words  would  balance  the  beam  of  an  unjust 
cause. 

But  at  that  moment  there  came  a  stir 
among  the  folk.  I  saw  the  elders  of  the  con- 
gregation appear  at  the  door  of  the  kirk.  And 
as  they  marched  up  the  aisle,  behind  them 
thronged  all  the  men  of  the  parish,  in  still, 
stern,  and  compact  mass. 

Then  a  ruling  elder  read  the  protest  of 
the  common  people.  It  was  simple  and  clear. 
The  parish  was  wholly  with  me,  and  not  with 
mine  enemies.  Almost  every  man  within  the 
bounds  had  signed  the  paper  whereon  was  writ- 
ten the  people's  protest.  The  Presbytery 
might  depose  the  minister,  but  the  people 
would  uphold  him.  Every  man  in  Balmaghie 
knew  well  that  their  pastor  suffered  because  he 
had  steadfastly  preferred  truth  to  compromise, 
honour  to  pelf,  conscience  to  stipend.  That 
the  Presbytery  themselves  had  sworn  to  up- 
hold that  which  now  they  condemned. 

"  Are  ye  who  present  this  paper  ordained 
elders  of  the  Kirk? ':  asked  Cameron  of  the 
leaders,  glowering  angrily  at  them. 


AT   BAY. 


223 


"  We  are,"  responded  Nathan  Gemmell, 
stoutly. 

"  And  ye  dare  to  bring  a  railing  accusation 
against  the  ministers  of  your  Presbytery?  ': 

"  We  are  free  men — ruling  elders  every  one. 
You,  on  your  part,  are  but  teaching  elders,  and, 
save  for  the  usurpation  of  the  State,  ye  are  no- 
ways in  authority  over  us,"  was  the  answer. 

"And  who  are  they  for  whom  ye  profess  to 
speak? '  continued  Cameron,  looking  frown- 
ingly  upon  Drumglass  and  his  fellows. 

"They  are  here  to  speak  for  themselves!" 
cried  Nathan  Gemmell,  and  as  he  waved  his 
hand,  the  kirk  was  rilled  from  end  to  end  with 
stalwart  men,  who  stood  up  rank  behind  rank, 
all  very  grave  and  quiet. 

I  saw  the  ministers  cower  together.  This 
was  not  at  all  what  they  had  bargained  for. 

"  We  are  plainly  to  be  deforced  and  over- 
awed," said  Cameron.  '  Let  us  disperse  to- 
day and  meet  to-morrow  in  the  Kirk  of  Cross- 
michael  over  the  water." 

And  lo!  it  was  done — even  as  their  leader 
said.  They  summoned  me  to  stand  at  their 
bar  on  the  morrow  in  the  Kirk  of  Crossmichael, 
that  I  might  receive  my  doom. 

But  quietly,  as  before,  I  told  them  that  I 


224  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

refused  their  court,  that  I  would  in  no  wise 
submit  to  their  sentence,  but  would  abide 
among  my  people  both  to-morrow  and  all  the 
to-morrows,  to  do  the  duty  which  had  been  laid 
upon  me,  in  spite  of  anathema,  deposition,  ex- 
communication. "  For,"  said  I,  "  I  have  a  war- 
rant that  is  higher  than  yours.  So  far  as  I  may, 
in  a  man's  weakness  and  sin,  I  will  be  faithful 
to  that  mandate,  to  my  conscience,  and  to  my 
God." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

mary  Gordon's  last  word. 

The  next  day  was  the  30th  of  December,  a 
day  of  bitter  frost,  so  that  the  Dee  froze  over, 
and  the  way  which  had  been  broken  for  the 
boats  to  ferry  the  Presbytery  across  from  the 
dangerous  bounds  of  Balmaghie  was  again 
filled  with  floating  ice. 

The  Kirk  of  Crossmichael  sits,  like  that  of 
Balmaghie,  on  a  little  green  hill  above  Dee 
Water.  One  House  of  Prayer  fronts  the  other, 
and  the  white  kirkyard  stones  greet  each  other 
across  the  river,  telling  the  one  story  of  earth 
to  earth.  And  every  Sabbath  day  across  the 
sluggish  stream  two  songs  of  praise  go  up  to 
heaven  in  united  aspiration  towards  one  Eter- 
nal father. 

But  this  30th  of  December  there  was  for 

Quintin  MacClellan  small  community  of  lofty 

fellowship    across    the    water   in    Crossmichael. 

It  was  to  me  of  all  days  the  day  bitterest  and 

225 


226  THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 

blackest.     I  have  indeed  good  cause  to  remem- 
ber it. 

Right  well  was  I  advised  that,  so  far  as  the 
ministers  of  the  Presbytery  were  concerned, 
there  was  no  hope  of  any  outcome  favourable 
to  me.  They  had  only  been  scared  from  their 
prey  for  a  moment  by  the  stern  threatening  of 
the  folk  of  the  parish.  The  People's  Paper  in 
particular  had  frightened  them  like  a  sentence 
of  death.  But  now  they  were  free  to  make  an 
end. 

My  brother  Hob  was  keen  to  head  a  band 
pledged  to  keep  them  out  of  Crossmichael  Kirk 
also.     But  I  forbade  him  to  cross  the  water. 

'  Keep  your  own  kirk  and  your  own  parish 
bounds  if  ye  like,  but  meddle  not  with  "those 
of  your  neighbours!'  I  told  him.  "Besides 
ye  would  only  drive  them  to  another  place, 
where  yet  more  bitterly  they  would  finish  their 
appointed  work!" 

But  though  the  former  stress  of  trial  was 
over,  this  day  of  quiet  was  far  harder  to  bear 
than  the  day  before.  For,  then,  with  the  ex- 
citation of  battle,  the  plaudits  of  the  people, 
the  quick  necessities  of  verbal  defence  against 
many  adversaries,  my  spirits  were  kept  up. 
But  now  there  was  none  in  the  manse  beside 


MARY   GORDON'S   LAST   WORD.  227 

myself,  and  I  took  to  wandering  up  and  down 
the  little  sequestered  kirk-loaning,  thinking 
how  that  by  this  time  the  Presbytery  was  met 
to  speed  my  doom,  and  that  the  pleasant  place 
which  knew  me  now  would  soon  know  me  no 
more  for  ever. 

As  I  lingered  at  the  road-end,  thinking  how 
much  I  would  have  given  for  a  heartening  word, 
and  vaguely  resolving  to  betake  me  over  to  the 
house  of  Drumglass,  where  at  the  least  I  was 
sure  of  companionship  and  consolation,  I 
chanced  to  cast  my  eyes  to  the  southward,  and 
there  along  the  light  grey  riverside  track  I  be- 
held a  lady  riding. 

As  she  came  nearer,  I  saw  that  it  was  none 
other  than  Mistress  Mary  Gordon.  I  thought 
I  had  never  seen  her  look  winsomer — a  rounded 
lissom  form,  a  perfect  seat,  a  dainty  and  well- 
ordered  carriage. 

I  stood  still  where  I  was  and  waited  for  her 
to  pass  me.  I  had  my  hat  in  my  hand,  and  in 
my  heart  I  counted  on  nothing  but  that  she 
should  ride  by  me  as  though  she  saw  me  not. 

But  on  the  contrary,  she  reined  her  horse 
and  sat  waiting  for  me  to  speak  to  her. 

So  I  went  to  her  bridle-rein  and  looked  up 
at  the  face,  and  lo!  it  was  kindlier  than  ever  I 


228  THE    STANDARD   BEARER. 

had  seen  it  before,  with  a  sort  of  loving  pity 
on  it  which  I  found  it  very  hard  to  bear. 

"  Will  you  let  me  walk  by  your  side  a  little 
way?  "  I  asked  of  her.  For  as  we  had  parted 
without  a  farewell,  so  on  this  bitterest  day  we 
met  again  without  greeting. 

"  My  Lady  Mary,"  I  said  at  last,  "  I  have 
gone  through  much  since  I  went  out  from  your 
house  at  Earlstoun.  I  have  yet  much  to  win 
through.  We  parted  in  anger  but  let  us  meet 
in  peace.  I  am  a  man  outcast  and  friendless, 
save  for  these  foolish  few  in  this  parish  who  to 
their  cost  have  made  my  quarrel  theirs." 

At  this  she  looked  right  kindly  down  upon 
me  and  paused  a  little  before  she  answered. 

"  Quintin,"  she  said,  "  there  is  no  anger  in 
my  heart  anywhere.  There  is  only  a  great  wae. 
I  have  come  from  the  place  of  Balmaghie  where 
my  cousin  Kate  of  Lochinvar  waits  her  good 
father's  passing." 

"  And  ride  you  home  to  the  Earlstoun 
alone?  "  I  asked. 

"  Aye,"  she  said,  a  little  wistfully.  And  the 
saying  cheered  me.  For  this  river  way  was  not 
the  girl's  straight  road  homeward,  and  it  came 
to  me  that  mayhap  Mary  Gordon  had  wished  to 
meet  and  comfort  me  in  my  sorrow. 


MARY   GORDON'S   LAST   WORD.  22Q 

'  My  father  is  abroad,  we  know  not  well 
where,"  she  said,  "  or  doubtless  he  would  glad- 
ly support  you  in  the  way  that  you  have  chosen. 
Perhaps  your  way  is  not  my  way,  but  it  must 
be  a  good  way  of  its  kind,  the  way  of  a  man's 
conscience." 

She  reached  down  a  hand  to  me,  which  I 
took  and  pressed  gratefully  enough. 

It  was  then  that  we  came  in  sight  of  the 
white  house  of  Drumglass  sitting  above  the 
water-meadows.  At  the  first  glimpse  of  it  the 
Lady  Mary  drew  away  her  hand  from  mine. 

'  Is  it  true,"  she  said,  looking  at  the  blue 
ridges  of  Cairnsmore  in  the  distance,  "  that 
which  I  have  been  told,  that  you  are  to  wed  a 
daughter  of  that  house?  " 

I  inclined  my  head  without  speech.  I  knew 
that  the  bitterest  part  of  my  punishment  was 
now  come  upon  me. 

"  And  did  you  come  straight  from  the 
Earlstoun  to  offer  her  also  your  position,  your 
well-roofed  manse,  your  income  good  as  that 
of  any  laird?  " 

We  had  stopped  in  a  sheltered  place  by  the 
river  where  the  hazel  bushes  are  many  and  the 
gorse  grows  long  and  rank,  mingling  with  the 
bloom  and  the  fringing  bog-myrtle. 


230  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

"  My  Lady  Mary,"  said  I,  after  a  pause,  "  I 
offered  her  not  anything.  I  had  nothing  to 
offer.  But  in  time  of  need  she  let  me  see  the 
warmth  of  her  heart  and — I  had  none  other 
comfort !  " 

'  Then  upon  this  day  of  days  why  are  you 
not  by  her  side,  that  her  love  may  ease  the 
smart  of  your  bitter  outcasting?  " 

'  In  yonder  kirk  mine  enemies  work  my 
doom,"  said  I,  pointing  over  the  water,  "  and 
ere  another  sun  rise  I  shall  be  no  more  minister 
of  Balmaghie,  but  a  homeless  man,  without 
either  a  rooftree  or  a  reeking  ingle.  I  have 
nothing  to  offer  any  woman.  Why  should  I 
claim  this  day  any  woman's  love?  " 

"  Ah,"  she  said,  giving  me  the  strangest 
look,  "  it  is  her  hour.  For  if  she  loves  you, 
she  would  fly  to-day  to  share  your  dry  crust, 
your  sapless  bite.  See,"  she  cried,  stretching 
out  her  hand  with  a  large  action,  "  if  Mary  Gor- 
don loved  a  man,  she  would  follow  him  in  her 
sark  to  the  world's  end.  If  so  be  his  eyes  had 
looked  the  deathless  love  into  hers,  his  tongue 
told  of  love,  love,  only  of  love.  Ah,  that  alone 
is  worth  calling  love  which  feeds  full  on  the 
scorns  of  life  and  grows  lusty  on  black  misfor- 
tune!" 


MARY   GORDON'S   LAST   WORD. 


231 


"  Lady  Mary "  I  began. 

But  she  interrupted  me,  dashing  her  hand 
furtively  to  her  face. 

She  pointed  up  towards  the  house  of  Drum- 
glass. 

"  Yonder  lies  your  way,  Quintin  MacClel- 
lan!  Go  to  the  woman  you  love — who  loves 
you." 

She  lifted  the  reins  from  the  horse's  neck 
and  would  have  started  forward,  but  again  I 
had  gotten  her  hand.  Yet  I  only  bent  and 
kissed  it  without  word,  reverently  and  sadly 
as  one  kisses  the  brow  of  the  dead. 

She  moved  away  without  anger  and  with 
her  eyes  downcast.  But  on  the  summit  of  a 
little  hill  she  half  turned  about  in  her  saddle 
and  spoke  a  strange  word. 

'  Quintin,"  she  said,  "  wherefore  could  ye 
not  have  waited?  Wherefore  kenned  ye  no 
better  than  to  take  a  woman  at  her  first 
word?" 

And  with  that  she  set  the  spurs  to  her 
beast  and  went  up  the  road  toward  the  ford 
at  the  gallop,  till  almost  I  feared  to  watch 
her. 

For  a  long  time  I  stood  sadly  enough  look- 
ing after  her.  And  I  grant  that  my  heart  was 
16 


232  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

like  lead  within  me.  My  spirit  had  no  power 
in  it.  I  cried  out  to  God  to  let  me  die. 
For  it  was  scarce  a  fair  thing  that  she  should 
have  spoken  that  word  now  when  it  was  too 
late. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

BEHIND    THE    BROOM. 

But  this  30th  of  December  had  yet  more 
in  store  for  me.  The  minting  die  was  yet  to 
be  dinted  deeper  into  my  heart. 

For,  as  I  turned  me  about  to  go  back  the 
way  I  came,  there  by  the  copse  side,  where  the 
broom  grew  highest,  stood  Jean  Gemmell,  with 
a  face  suddenly  drawn  thin,  grey-white  and  wan 
like  the  melting  snow. 

"  Jean!  "  I  cried,  "  what  do  ye  there?  " 

She  tried  to  smile,  but  her  eyes  had  a  fixed 
and  glassy  look,  and  she  seemed  to  be  master- 
ing herself  so  that  she  might  speak. 

I  think  that  she  had  a  speech  prepared  in 
her  heart,  for  several  times  she  strove  to  begin, 
and  the  words  were  always  the  same.  But  at 
last  all  that  she  could  say  was  no  more  than 
this,  "  You  love  her?  " 

And  with  a  little  hand  she  pointed  to  where 

the    Lady    Mary    had    disappeared.      I    could 

233 


234  THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 

see  it  shaking  like  a  willow  leaf  as  she  held  it 
out. 

"  Jean,"  said  I,  kindly  as  I  could,  "  what 
brought  you  so  far  from  home  on  such  a  bitter 
day?  It  is  not  fit.  You  will  get  your  death 
of  cold." 

"  I  have  gotten  my  death,"  she  said,  with  a 
little  gasping  laugh,  "  I  have  gotten  my  sen- 
tence.    Do  not  I  take  it  well?  " 

And  she  tried  to  smile  again. 

Then  I  went  quickly  to  her,  and  caught  her 
by  the  hand,  and  put  my  arm  about  her.  For 
I  feared  that  she  would  fall  prostrate  where  she 
stood.  Notwithstanding,  she  kept  on  smiling 
through  unshed  tears,  and  never  for  a  moment 
took  her  eyes  off  my  face. 

1  I  heard  what  you  and  she  said.  Yes,  I 
listened.  A  great  lady  would  not  have  listened. 
But  I  am  no  better  than  a  little  cot-house  lass, 
and  I  spied  upon  you.  Yes,  I  hid  among  the 
broom.     You  will  never  forgive  me." 

I  tried  to  hush  her  with  kind  words,  but 
somehow  they  seemed  to  pass  her  by.  I  think 
she  did  not  even  hear  them. 

'  You  love  her,"  she  said;  "yes,  I  know  it. 
Jonita  told  me  that  from  the  first — that  I  could 
never  be  your  wife,  though  I  had  led  you  on. 


BEHIND   THE    BROOM.  235 

Yes,  I  own  it.  I  tried  to  win  you.  A  great 
lady  would  not.  But  I  did.  I  threw  myself 
in  your  way.  Shamelessly  I  cast  myself — Jo- 
nita  says  it — into  your  arms! 

"  Ah,  God!  "  she  broke  off  with  a  little  fran- 
tic cry,  sinking  her  head  between  her  palms 
quickly,  and  then  flinging  her  arms  down. 
"  And  would  I  not  have  cast  myself  under  your 
feet  as  readily,  that  you  might  trample  me?  I 
know  I  am  not  long  for  this  world.  I  ken  that 
I  have  bartered  away  eternity  for  naught.  I 
have  lied  to  God.  And  why  not?  You  that 
are  a  minister,  tell  me  why  not?  Would  not 
I  gladly  barter  all  heaven  for  one  hour  of  your 
love  on  earth?  You  may  despise  me,  but  I 
loved  you.  Yes,  she  is  great,  fair,  full  of  length 
of  days  and  pride  of  life — the  Lord  of  Earls- 
toun's  daughter.  Yet — and  yet — and  yet,  she 
could  not  love  you  better  than  I.  In  that  I 
defy  her! 

"  And  she  shall  have  you — yes,  I  will  give 
you  up  to  her.  For  that  is  the  one  way  an 
ignorant  lass  can  love.  They  tell  me  that  by 
to-morrow  you  will  be  no  longer  minister. 
You  will  be  put  out  of  the  manse  like  a  bird 
out  of  a  harried  nest.  And  at  first  I  was  glad 
when  I  heard  it.     For  (thought  I)  he  will  come 


236  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

and  tell  me.  We  will  be  poor  together.  She 
said  the  truth,  for  indeed  she  knoweth  some- 
what, this  Lady  Mary — '  Love  is  not  posses- 
sions!' No,  but  it  is  possessing.  And  I  had 
but  one — but  one!  And  that  she  has  taken 
away  from  me." 

She  lifted  her  kerchief  to  her  lips,  for  all 
suddenly  a  fit  of  coughing  had  taken  her. 

In  a  moment  she  drew  it  away,  glanced  at 
it  quickly,  and  lo!  it  was  stained  with  a  clear 
and  brilliant  red. 

Then  she  laughed  abruptly,  a  strange,  hol- 
low-sounding little  laugh. 

"I  am  glad — glad,"  she  said.  "Ah!  this 
is  my  warrant  for  departure.  Well  do  I  ken 
the  sign,  for  I  mind  when  my  brother  An- 
drew saw  it  first.  Quintin,  dear  lad,  you  will 
get  her  yet,  and  with  honour." 

"  Come,  Jean,"  said  I,  gently  as  I  could, 
"  the  air  is  shrewd.  You  are  ill  and  weak. 
Lean  on  my  arm,  and  I  will  take  you  home." 

She  looked  up  at  me  with  dry,  brilliant  eyes. 
There  was  nothing  strange  about  them  save 
that  the  lids  seemed  swollen  and  unnaturally 
white. 

'  Quintin,"  she  made  answer,  smiling,  "  it 
was  foolish  from  the  first,  was  it  not,  lad  o'  my 


BEHIND   THE   BROOM.  237 

love?  Did  you  ever  say  a  sweet  thing  to  me, 
like  one  that  comes  courting  a  lass  in  the 
gloaming?  Say  it  now  to  me,  will  you  not?  I 
would  like  to  hear  how  it  would  have  sounded." 

I  was  silent.  I  seemed  to  have  no  words  to 
answer  her  with. 

She  laughed  a  little. 

"  I  forgot.  Pardon  me,  Quintin.  You  are 
in  trouble  to-day — deep  trouble.  I  should  not 
add  to  it.  It  is  I  who  should  say  loving  things 
to  you.  But  then — then — you  would  care 
more  for  flouts  and  anger  from  her  than  for  all 
the  naked  sweetness  of  poor  Jean  Gemmell's 
heart." 

And  the  very  pitifulness  of  her  voice  drew 
a  cry  of  anger  out  of  my  breast.  At  the  first 
sound  of  it  she  stopped  and  leaned  back  in  my 
arms  to  look  into  my  face.  Then  she  put  up 
her  hand  very  gently  and  patted  me  tenderly 
on  the  cheek  like  one  that  comforts  a  fretful 
fractious  child. 

"  I  vex  you,"  she  said,  "  you  that  have  over- 
much to  vex  you.  But  I  shall  not  vex  you 
long.  See,"  she  said,  "  there  is  the  door.  Yon- 
der is  my  father  standing  by  it.  He  is  looking 
at  us  under  his  hand.  There  is  Jonita,  too, 
and  your  brother  Hob.     Shall  we  go  and  tell 


238  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

them  that  this  is  all  a  mistake,  that  there  is  to 
be  no  more  between  us? — that  we  are  free — ■ 
free,  both  of  us — you  to  wed  the  Lady  Mary, 
I  to  keep  my  tryst — to  keep  my  tryst — with 
Death!" 

At  the  last  words  her  voice  sank  to  a 
whisper. 

Something  broke  in  her  throat  and  seemed 
to  choke  her.  She  fell  back  in  my  arms  with 
her  kerchief  again  to  her  mouth. 

They  saw  us  from  the  door,  and  Alexander- 
Jonita  came  flying  towards  us  like  the  wind 
over  the  short  grass  of  the  meadow. 

Jean  took  her  kerchief  away,  without  look- 
ing at  it  this  time.  She  lifted  her  eyes  to  mine 
and  smiled  very  sweetly. 

'  I  am  glad — glad,"  she  whispered;  "  do  not 
be  sorry,  Quintin.  But  do  just  this  one  thing 
for  me,  will  you,  lad — but  only  this  one  thing. 
Do  not  tell  them.  Let  us  pretend.  Would  it 
be  wrong,  think  you,  to  pretend  a  little  that  you 
love  me?  You  are  a  minister,  and  should  know. 
But,  if  you  could — why,  it  would  be  so  sweet. 
And  then  it  would  not  be  for  long,  Quintin." 

She  spoke  coaxingly,  and  withal  most  ten- 
derly. 

"  Jean,  I  do  love  you!  "  I  cried. 


BEHIND   THE   BROOM.  2Xg 

And  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  meant  it. 
She  seemed  to  be  like  my  sister  Anna  to  me. 

By  this  time,  seeing  Jonita  coming,  she  had 
recovered  herself  somewhat  and  taken  my  arm. 
At  my  words  she  pressed  it  a  little,  and  smiled. 
'  Oh,"  she  said,  "  you  need  not  begin  yet. 
Only  before  them.  I  want  them  to  think  that 
you  love  me  a  little,  you  see.  Is  it  not  small 
and  foolish  of  me?  " 

'  But  I  do — I  do  truly  love  you,  Jean,"  I 
cried.     "  Did  you  ever  know  me  to  tell  a  lie?  " 

She  smiled  again  and  nodded,  like  one  who 
smiles  at  a  child  who  has  well  learned  his  lesson. 

Alexander-Jonita  came  rushing  up. 

"Jean,  Jean,  where  have  you  been?  What 
is  the  matter?  " 

'  I  have  been  meeting  Quintin,"  she  said, 
with  a  bright  and  heavenly  look;  "  he  has  been 
telling  me  how  he  loves  me." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

JEAN    GEMMELL'S    BARGAIN    WITH    GOD. 

Yet  more  grimly  bitter  than  the  day  of  De- 
cember the  thirtieth  fell  the  night.  I  wandered 
by  the  bank  of  the  river,  where  the  sedges  rus- 
tled lonely  and  dry  by  the  marge,  whispering 
and  chuckling  to  each  other  that  a  forlorn, 
broken  man  was  passing  by.  A  "  smurr  "  of 
rain  had  begun  to  fall  at  the  hour  of  dusk,  and 
the  slight  ice  of  the  morning  had  long  since 
broken  up.  The  water  lisped  and  sobbed  as  the 
wind  of  winter  lapped  at  the  ripples,  and  the 
peat-brew  of  the  hills  took  its  sluggish  way  to 
the  sea. 

Over  against  me,  set  on  its  hill,  I  saw  the 

lighted  windows  of  the  kirk  of  Crossmichael. 

Well  I  knew  what  that  meant.     Mine  enemies 

were   sitting   there   in   conclave.     They   would 

not  rise  till  I  was  no  more  minister  of  the  Kirk 

of  Scotland.     They  would  thrust  me  out,  and 

whither  should  I  go?     To  what  folk  could  I 
240 


JEAN   GEMMELL'S   BARGAIN   WITH   GOD.    24 1 

minister — an  it  were  not,  like  Alexander-Jonita, 
to  the  wild  beasts  of  the  hills?  A  day  before  I 
should  have  been  elated  at  the  thought.  But 
now,  for  the  first  time,  I  saw  myself  unworthy. 

Who  was  I,  that  thought  so  highly  of  my- 
self, that  I  should  appoint  me  Standard  Bearer 
of  the  noble  banner  of  the  Covenants.  A  man 
weak  as  other  men!  Nay,  infinitely  weaker  and 
worse.  The  meanest  hind  who  worked  in  the 
fields  to  bring  home  four  silver  shillings  a  week 
to  his  wife  and  bairns  was  better  than  I. 

A  Standard  Bearer!  I  laughed  now  at  the 
thought,  and  the  rushes  by  the  water's  edges 
chuckled  and  sneered  in  answering  derision. 

A  Standard  Bearer,  God  wot!  Renegade 
and  traitor,  rather;  a  man  who  could  not  keep 
his  plain  vows,  whose  erring  and  wandering 
heart  went  after  vanities;  one  that  had  broken 
a  maiden's  heart — unwitting  and  unintending, 
did  he  pretend?  Faugh!  that  was  what  every 
Lovelace  alleged  as  his  excuse. 

I  had  thought  myself  worthy  to  do  battle 
for  the  purity  of  the  Kirk  of  my  fathers.  I 
had  pretended  that  her  independence,  her  posi- 
tion and  her  power  were  dearer  than  life  to  me. 
I  saw  it  all  now.  It  was  mine  own  place  and 
position  I  had  been  warring  for. 


242 


THE  STANDARD  BEARER. 


Also  had  I  not  set  myself  above  my  breth- 
ren? Had  I  not  said,  "  Get  far  from  me,  for 
am  I  not  holier  than  thou?  " 

And  God,  who  does  not  pay  His  wages  on 
Saturday  night,  had  waited.  So  now  He  came 
to  me  and  said,  "  Who  art  thou,  Quintin  Mac- 
Clellan,  that  thou  shouldst  dare  to  touch  the 
ark  of  God?" 

And  as  I  looked  across  the  dark  waters  I 
saw  the  light  burn  clearer  and  clearer  in  the 
kirk  of  Crossmichael.  They  were  lighting  more 
candles  that  they  might  see  the  better  to  make 
an  end. 

'  God  speed  them,"  cried  I,  in  the  darkness; 
'  they  are  doing  God's  work.  For  they  could 
do  nothing  except  it  were  permitted  of  Him. 
Shall  I  step  into  the  boat  that  rocks  and  clat- 
ters with  the  little  wavelets  leaping  against  its 
side?  Shall  I  call  John  the  ferryman  and  go 
over  and  make  my  submission  before  them  all?  ': 

I  could  tell  them  what  an  unworthy,  for- 
sworn, ill-hearted  man  I  am. 

Thus  I  stood  by  the  riverside.  Almost  I 
had  lifted  up  my  voice  to  cry  aloud  that  I  would 
make  this  acknowledgment  and  reparation, 
when  through  the  darkness  I  saw  a  shape  ap- 
proach. 


JEAN    GEMMELL'S   BARGAIN    WITH    GOD.    243 

A  voice  said  in  my  ear,  "  Come — Jean  Gem- 
mell  is  taken  suddenly  ill.  She  would  see  you 
at  once." 

Then  I  was  aware  that  this  30th  of  Decem- 
ber was  to  be  my  great  day  of  judgment  and 
wrath,  when  the  six  vials  were  to  be  loosed 
upon  me.  I  knew  that  the  Lord  whose  name 
I  had  taken  in  vain  was  that  day  to  smite  me 
with  a  great  smiting,  because,  being  unworthy, 
I  had  put  out  my  hand  to  stay  the  ark  of  the 
covenant  of  God. 

"  Hob,"  said  I,  for  it  was  my  brother  who 
had  come  to  summon  me,  "  is  she  yet  alive?  ': 

"Alive!"  said  he,  abruptly.  "Why,  bless 
the  man,  she  wants  you  to  marry  her." 

"  Marry "  said  I,  "  I  am  a  minister  of 

the  kirk.  I  have  ever  spoken  against  irregular 
marriages.  How  can  I  marry  without  another 
minister?  " 

Hob  laughed  a  short  laugh.  He  never 
thought  much  of  my  love-making. 

"Better  marry  than  burn!"  quoth  he,  ab- 
ruptly. "  Mr.  Hepburn,  of  Buittle  Kirk,  is 
here.  He  came  over  to  hearten  you  in  the  day 
of  your  adversity." 

Then  I  recognised  the  hand  of  God  in  the 
thing  and  bowed  my  head. 


244 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


So  in  an  aching  expectant  silence,  hearing 
only  a  poor  divided  heart  pulse  within  me,  I 
followed  Hob  over  the  moor,  and  up  by  the 
sides  of  the  frozen  mosses  to  the  house  of 
Drumglass.  He  knew  the  way  blindfold,  which 
shows  what  a  wonderful  gift  he  had  among  the 
hills.  For  I  myself  had  gone  that  way  ten 
times  for  his  once.  Yet  that  night,  save  for  my 
brother,  I  had  stumbled  to  my  hurt  among  the 


crags. 


Presently  we  came  to  the  entering  in  of  the 
farmyard.  Lights  were  gleaming  here  and 
there,  and  I  saw  some  of  the  servant  men  clus- 
tered at  the  stable  door. 

There  was  a  hush  of  expectation  about  the 
place,  as  if  they  were  waiting  for  some  notable 
thing  which  was  about  to  happen. 

Nathan  Gemmell  met  me  in  the  outer  hall, 
and  shook  me  by  the  hand  silently,  like  a  chief 
mourner  at  a  funeral.  Then  he  led  the  way 
into  the  inner  room.  Hepburn  came  forward 
also,  and  took  my  hand.  He  was  a  man  of  dark 
and  determined  countenance,  yet  with  singular- 
ly lovable  eyes  which  now  and  then  unexpect- 
edly beaconed  kindliness. 

Jean  sat  on  a  great  chair,  and  beside  her 
stood  Alexander- Jonita. 


JEAN   GEMMELL'S   BARGAIN   WITH    GOD.    245 

When  I  came  in  Jean  rose  firmly  to  her  feet. 
She  looked  about  her  with  a  proud  look  like 
one  that  would  say,  "  See,  all  ye  people,  this  is 
he!" 

"Quintin!"  she  said,  and  laying  her  thin 
fingers  on  my  shoulders,  she  looked  deep  into 
my  eyes. 

Never  did  I  meet  such  a  look.  It  seemed 
to  be  compound  of  life  and  death,  of  the  love 
earthly  and  the  love  eternal. 

"  Good  friends,"  she  said,  calmly  turning  to 
them  as  though  she  had  been  the  minister  and 
accustomed  to  speak  in  the  hearing  of  men,  "  I 
have  summoned  my  love  hastily.  I  have  some- 
what to  say  to  him.  Will  you  leave  us  alone 
for  ten  minutes?  I  have  a  word  to  say  in  his 
ear  alone.  It  is  not  strange,  is  it,  at  such  a 
time?" 

And  she  smiled  brightly  upon  them,  while 
I  stood  dumb  and  astonished.  For  I  knew  not 
whence  the  lass,  ordinarily  so  still  and  fond, 
had  gotten  her  language.  She  spoke  as  one 
who  has  long  made  up  his  mind,  and  to  whom 
fit  and  prepared  words  come  without  effort. 

When  they  were  gone  she  sat  down  on  the 
chair  again,  and,  taking  my  hand,  motioned  me 
to  kneel  down  beside  her. 


246  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

Then  she  laid  her  hand  to  my  hair  and 
touched  it  lightly. 

'  Quintin,"  she  said,  "  you  and  I  have  not 
long  to  sit  sweethearting  together.  I  must 
say  quickly  that  which  I  have  to  say.  I  am, 
you  will  peradventure  think,  a  bold,  immodest 
lass.  You  remember  it  was  I  who  courted  you, 
compelled  you,  followed  you,  spied  on  you. 
But  then,  you  see,  I  loved  you.  Now  I  want  to 
ask  you  to  marry  me!  " 

'  Nay,"  she  said,  interrupting  my  words 
more  with  her  hand  than  her  voice,  "misjudge 
me  not.  I  am  to  die — to  die  soon.  It  has 
been  revealed  to  me  that  I  have  bartered  the 
life  eternal  for  this.  And,  since  so  it  is,  I  de- 
sire to  drink  the  sweetness  of  it  to  the"  cup's 
bottom.  I  have  made  a  bargain  with  God.  I 
have  prayed,  and  I  have  promised  that  if  He 
will  put  it  in  your  heart  to  wed  with  me  for 
an  hour,  I  will  take  with  gratitude  and  thank- 
fulness all  that  lies  waiting  over  there,  beyond 
the  Black  River." 

She  waved  her  hand  down  toward  the  Dee 
water. 

I  smiled  and  nodded  hopefully  and  com- 
fortingly to  her.  At  that  moment  I  felt  that 
nothing  was  too  great  for  me  to  do.     And  it 


JEAN   GEMMELL'S   BARGAIN   WITH   GOD.    247 

mattered  little  when  I  married  her.  I  had  ever 
meant  to  be  true  to  her — save  in  that  which  I 
could  not  help,  the  love  of  my  heart  of  hearts, 
which,  having  been  another's  from  the  begin- 
ning was  not  mine  to  give. 

Jean  Gemmell  smiled. 

'  I  thank  you,  Ouintin,"  she  said,  "  this  is 
like  you,  and  better  than  I  deserve.  Had  it 
been  a  matter  of  days  or  weeks  I  would  never 
have  troubled  you.  But  'tis  only  the  matter  of 
an  hour  or  two!  " 

She  paused  a  little,  stroking  my  head  fondly. 

"  And  afterwards  you  will  say,  remembering 
me,  '  Poor  young  thing,  she  loved  me,  loved 
me  truly! '  Ah,  Ouintin,  I  think  I  should  have 
made  you  a  good  wife.  Love  helps  all  things, 
they  say.  Put  your  hand  below  my  head,  Quin- 
tin.  Tell  me  again  that  you  love  me.  Sweet- 
heart '  (now  she  was  whispering),  "  do  you 
know  I  have  to  tell  you  all  that  you  should  say 
to  me?  Is  that  fair — that  I  should  make  love 
to  you  and  to  myself  too?  " 

I  groaned  aloud. 

"  God  help  us,  Jean,"  I  said,  "  we  shall  yet 

be  happy  together."     And  at   the  moment   I 

meant    it.     I    felt    that    a   lifetime    of   sacrifice 

would  not  make  up  for  such  love. 
17 


248  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

She  patted  me  on  the  head  pacifyingly  as 
if  I  had  been  a  fractious  bairn  that  needed  hu- 
mouring. 

"  Yes,  yes,  then,"  she  said,  soothingly,  "  we 
shall  be  happy,  you  and  I.  What  was  it  you 
said  the  other  Sabbath  day?  I  knew  not 
what  it  meant  then.  But  methinks  I  begin 
to  understand  now — '  passing  the  love  of 
woman ! '  " 

The  cough  shook  her,  but  she  strove  to  hide 
it,  going  on  quickly  with  her  words  like  one 
who  has  no  time  to  lose. 

'  That  is  the  way  I  love  you,  Quintin, 
'  passing  the  love  of  women.'  Why,  I  do  not 
even  grudge  you  to  her." 

She  smiled  again,  and  said  cheerfully,  "  Now 
we  will  call  them  in." 

I  was  going  to  the  door  to  do  it  according 
to  her  word,  for  that  night  we  all  obeyed  her 
as  though  she  had  been  the  Queen.  I  was 
almost  at  the  door  when  she  rose  all  trem- 
bling to  her  feet  and  held  out  her  arms  entreat- 
ingly. 

"  Quintin,  Quintin,  kiss  me  once,"  she  said, 
"  once  before  they  come." 

I  ran  to  her  and  kissed  her  on  the  brow. 
'Oh,   not   there!     On   the   mouth.     It   is   my 


JEAN   GEMMELL'S   BARGAIN   WITH   GOD.    249 

right.     I  have  paid  for  it!  "  she  cried.     And  so 
I  did. 

Then  she  drew  down  my  head  and  set  her 
lips  to  my  ear.  "  I  lied  to  you,  laddie — yes,  I 
lied.     I  do  grudge  you  to  her.     Oh,  I  do,  I  do!  " 

And  for  the  first  time  one  mighty  sob 
caught  her  by  the  throat  and  rent  her. 

Nevertheless  she  straightened  herself  with 
her  hand  to  her  breast,  like  a  wounded  soldier 
who  salutes  his  general  ere  he  dies,  and  com- 
manded her  emotion.  "  Yes,"  she  said,  look- 
ing upwards  and  speaking  as  if  to  one  unseen, 
'  I  will  play  the  game  fairly;  I  have  promised 
and  I  will  not  repine,  nor  go  back  on  my 
word!  " 

She  turned  to  me,  "  It  is  not  a  time  for 
bairn's  greeting.  We  are  to  be  married,  you 
and  I,  are  we  not?     Call  them  in." 

And  she  laughed  a  little  bashfully  and  fitly 
as  the  folk  came  in  and  smiled  to  one  and  the 
other  as  they  entered. 

Then  to  me  she  beckoned. 

'  Come  and  hold  my  hand  all  the  time. 
Clasp  my  fingers  firmly.  Do  not  let  them  go 
lest  I  slip  away  too  soon,  Quintin.  I  need  your 
hand  in  mine — for  to-night,  Quintin,  just  only 
for  this  one  night!  " 


250 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


Even  thus  Jean  Gemmell  and  I  were  mar- 
ried. 

•  *•»••• 

And  after  all  was  done  I  laid  her  on  her  bed, 
and  she  rested  there  till  near  the  dawning  with 
my  hand  firmly  held  in  hers.  Mostly  her  eyes 
were  shut,  but  every  now  and  then  she  would 
smile  up  at  me  like  one  that  encourages  another 
in  a  weary  wait. 

Once  she  said,  "  Isn't  it  sweet?  " 

And  then  again,  and  near  to  the  gloaming 
of  the  morn,  she  whispered,  "  It  will  not  be 
long  now,  laddie  mine?  " 

Nor  was  it,  for  within  an  hour  the  soul  of 
Jean  Gemmell  went  out  in  one  long  loving  look, 
and  with  the  faintest  murmur  of  her  lips  which 
only  my  ear  could  catch — "  Passing  the  love  of 
women,"  she  said,  and  again — "  passing  the  love 
of  women!  " 

And  it  was  my  hand  alone  that  spread  the 
fair  white  cloth  over  her  dead  face  which  still 
had  the  smile  upon  it,  and  over  the  pale  lips 
that  she  had  asked  me  to  kiss. 

Then,  as  I  stumbled  blindly  down  the  hill, 
I  looked  beyond  the  dark  and  sluggish  river 
rolling  beneath  over  to  the  Kirk  of  Cross- 
michael.     And   even   as   I   stood   looking,   the 


JEAN   GEMMELL'S   BARGAIN   WITH    GOD.    25 1 

lights  in  the  windows  went  out.  It  was  done. 
I  was  a  man  in  one  day  widowed,  forsaken,  out- 
cast. 

But  more  than  kirk  or  ministry  or  even 
Christ's  own  covenant,  I  thought  upon  Jean 
Gemmell. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

RUMOUR    OF    WAR. 

(Connect  and  Addition  by  Hob  MacClcllan.) 

The  crown  had  indeed  been  set  upon  the 
work.  The  business,  as  said  the  Right  Rever- 
end Presbytery,  was  finished,  and  with  well-sat- 
isfied hearts  the  brethren  went  back  to  their 
manses. 

It  was  long  ere  in  his  private  capacity  my 

brother  could  lift  up  his  head  or  speak  to  us 

that  were  about  him.     The  dark  day  and  darker 

night    of    the    30th    of    December    had    sorely 

changed  him.     He  was  like  one  standing  alone, 

the  world  ranged  against  him.     Then   I   that 

was  his  brother  according  to  the  flesh  watched 

him  carefully.     Never  did  he  pace  by  the  rivers 

of  waters  nor  yet  climb  the  heathery  steeps  of 

the  Dornal  without  a  companion.     There  were 

times  when   almost   we  feared   for  his  reason. 

But  Quintin  MacClellan,  the  deposed  minister 
252 


RUMOUR   OF   WAR. 


253 


of  Balmaghie,  was  not  the  stuff  of  which  self- 
slayers  are  made. 

When  it  chanced  that  I  could  not  accom- 
pany him,  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  arrange  with 
Alexander-Jonita,  and  she  would  take  the  hill 
or  the  water-edge,  silent  as  a  shadow,  tireless 
as  a  young  deer.  And  with  her  to  guard  I 
knew  that  my  brother  was  safe. 

Never  did  he  know  that  any  watched  him, 
for  during  these  days  he  was  a  man  walking 
with  shadows.  I  think  he  never  ceased  blaming 
himself  for  poor  Jean's  death.  At  any  rate 
Quintin  MacClellan  was  a  changed  man  for 
long  after  that  night. 

My  mother  came  down  from  Ardarroch  to 
bide  a  while  with  him,  and  at  orra  times  he 
aroused  himself  somewhat  to  talk  with  her. 
But  when  she  began  to  speak  of  the  ill-set  Pres- 
bytery, or  even  of  the  more  familiar  things  at 
home — the  nowt,  the  horse,  and  the  kindly  kye 
— I,  who  watched  every  shade  on  Ouintin's  face 
as  keenly  as  if  he  had  been  my  sweetheart,  knew 
well  that  his  mind  was  wandering.  And  some- 
times I  thought  it  was  set  on  the  dead  lass,  and 
sometimes  I  thought  that  he  mourned  for  the 
public  misfortune  which  had  befallen  him. 

To  the  outer  world,  the  world  of  the  parish 


254  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

and  the  countryside,  he  kept  ever  a  brave  face. 
He  preached  with  yet  more  mighty  power  and 
acceptance.  The  little  kirk  was  crowded  Sab- 
bath after  Sabbath.  Those  who  had  once 
spoken  against  him  did  it  no  more  openly  in  the 
parish  of  Balmaghie. 

With  calm  front  and  assured  carriage  he 
went  about  his  duties,  as  though  there  were  no 
Presbyteries  nor  forces  military  to  carry  out 
his  sentence  of  removal  and  deposition. 

Only  the  chief  landowners  wished  him  away. 
For  mostly  they  were  men  of  evil  life,  rough- 
spoken  and  darkly  tarred  with  scandal.  My 
brother  had  been  over-faithful  with  them  in  re- 
proof. For  it  was  of  Ouintin  that  an  old  wife 
had  said,  "  God  gie  thee  the  fear  o'  Himsel', 
laddie!  For  faith,  ye  haena  the  fear  o'  man 
aboot  ye!  " 

But  there  were  others  who  could  take  steps 
as  well  as  Presbyteries  and  officers  of  the  law. 

Alexander-Jonita  rode  like  a  storm-cloud  up 
and  down  the  glen  and  listed  the  lads  to  do 
her  will,  as  indeed  they  were  ever  all  too  ready 
to  do.  Her  father,  with  several  of  the  elders, 
men  grave  and  reverend,  met  to  concert  meas- 
ures for  defending  the  bounds,  lest  the  enemy 
should   try  to   oust   their  minister  out   of  his 


RUMOUR   OF   WAR.  255 

"  warm  nest,"  as  they  called  the  manse  which 
cowered  down  under  lee  of  the  kirk. 

So  it  came  about  that  there  was  scarce  a 
man  in  Balmaghie  who  was  not  enrolled  to  pro- 
tect the  passage  perilous  of  kirk  and  manse. 
The  parish  became  almost  like  a  defended  city 
or  an  entrenched  camp.  There  were  watchers 
upon  the  hilltops  everywhere.  Week-day  and 
Sabbath-day  they  abode  there.  All  the  fords 
were  guarded,  the  river-fronts  patrolled,  for 
save  on  the  wild  and  mountainous  side  our  par- 
ish is  surrounded  by  waters  deep  and  broad  or 
else  rapid  and  dangerous. 

Did  a  couple  of  ministers  approach  from 
Crossmichael  to  "  preach  the  kirk  vacant  "  their 
boat  was  pushed  back  again  into  the  stream, 
and  a  hundred  men  stood  in  line  to  prevent  a 
landing.  Yet  all  was  carried  out  with  decency 
and  order,  as  men  do  who  have  taken  a  great 
matter  in  hand  and  are  prepared  to  stand  within 
their  danger. 

The  elders  also  held  mysterious  colloquies 
with  men  from  a  distance,  who  went  and  came 
to  their  houses  under  cloud  of  night.  There 
was  discipline  and  drill  by  Gideon  Henderson 
and  other  former  officers  of  the  Scotch  Dutch 
regiments.     I  remember  a  muster  on  the  mead- 


256  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

ows  of  the  Duchrae  at  which  a  stern-faced  man, 
with  his  face  half  muffled,  came  and  put  us 
through  our  duty.  I  knew  by  the  tones  of  his 
voice  that  this  was  none  other  than  the  Colonel 
Sir  William  Gordon  who  had  marched  with  us 
to  Edinburgh  in  the  great  convention  year. 

But  the  climax  was  yet  to  come. 

It  was  in  July  that  the  Sheriff  had  first  tried 
in  vain  to  land  at  the  Kirk-Knowe  in  order  to 
expel  my  brother  from  his  manse'.  But  a  hun- 
dred men  had  started  up  out  of  the  bushes,  and 
with  levelled  pistols  turned  the  boat  back  again 
to  the  further  shore. 

Next  there  was  a  gathering  of  the  Presby- 
tery at  Cullenoch,  under  the  wing  of  the  Laird 
of  Balmaghie,  to  concert  measures  with  the 
other  landowners,  who  in  time  past  had  often 
smarted  under  Ouintin's  rebuke.  It  was  to  be 
held  at  the  inn,  and  the  debate  was  to  settle 
many  things. 

But  alas!  when  the  day  came  every  room 
in  the  hostel  was  filled  with  armed  men,  so  that 
there  was  no  place  for  the  reverend  fathers  and 
their  terrified  hosts. 

So  without  in  the  wide  spaces  where  four 
roads  meet,  the  Presbyters  one  by  one  ad- 
dressed the  people,  if  addresses  they  could  be 


RUMOUR   OF   WAR. 


257 


called,  which  were  interrupted  at  every  other 
sentence. 

It  was  Warner,  the  father  of  the  Presbytery, 
who  was  speaking  when  I  arrived.  He  was  one 
of  those  who  had  sat  safe  and  snug  under  the 
King's  indulgences  and  agreements  in  the  days 
of  persecution. 

"  People  of  Balmaghie,"  he  cried,  "  hearken 
to  me.  Ye  are  supporting  a  man  that  is  no 
minister,  a  man  outed  and  deposed.  Your  chil- 
dren will  be  unbaptized,  your  marriages  un- 
blessed, yourselves  excommunicated,  because  of 
this  man!  " 

'  Maister  Warner,"  cried  a  voice  from  the 
crowd,  which  I  knew  for  that  of  Drumglass, 
4  I  am  auld  eneuch  to  mind  how  ye  were  a 
member  in  the  Presbytery  at  Sunday-wall  that 
sat  on  Richard  Cameron  in  order  to  depose  him. 
Now  ye  wad  spend  your  persecuting  breath  on 
our  young  minister.  Gang  hame,  man,  and 
think  on  your  latter  end!  " 

But,  indeed,  as  half-a-dozen  bare  swords 
were  within  a  yard  of  his  nose,  Mr.  Warner 
might  quite  as  well  have  thought  on  his  latter 
end  where  he  was. 

Then  it  was  Cameron's  turn.  But  him  the 
people  would  not  listen  to  on  any  protest,  be- 


258        THE  STANDARD  BEARER. 

cause  he  had  been  accounted  chief  agent  and 
mover  in  the  process  of  law  against  their  min- 
ister. 

"  Better  ye  had  died  at  Ayrsmoss  wi'  you 
twa  brithers,"  they  cried  to  him;  "  man,  ye'll 
never  win  nearer  to  them  than  Kirkcudbright 
town.  And  Guid  kens  that's  an  awesome  lang 
road  frae  heeven!  " 

To  Telfair  the  Ghost-seer  of  Rerrick,  they 
cried,  when  he  strove  to  say  a  word,  "  What 
for  did  ye  no  bring  the  deil  wi'  ye  in  a  bag? 
Man,  ye  are  ower  great  wi'  him.  But  there's 
neither  witch  nor  warlock  can  look  at  MacClel- 
lan's  cup  nor  come  near  our  minister.  It's  easy 
seen  Ouintin  MacClellan  wasna  in  the  Presby- 
tery when  the  deil  played  sic  pliskies  doon  aboot 
the  Rerrick  shores." 

Then  came  Boyd,  who  in  his  day  had  pro- 
claimed King  William  at  Glasgow  Cross.  But 
he  found  that  an  easier  task  than  to  shout  down 
the  cause  of  righteousness  at  the  Four  Roads 
of  Pluckemin. 

"  You  pay  overmuch  attention  to  the  words 
of  a  man  without  honour! ':  This  was  his 
beginning,  heard  over  all  the  crowd  to 
the  very  midst  of  the  street,  for  he  had  a 
great    voice,    which    in    a   better   cause    would 


RUMOUR   OF   WAR. 


259 


have    been    listened    to    like    the    voice    of    an 
apostle. 

"  Have  ye  paid  back  the  siller  the  poor  hill- 
folk  spent  on  your  colleging?  "  they  asked  him. 
"  Our  minister  paid  for  his  ain  schooling." 

The  question  was  a  feathered  arrow  in  the 
white,  but  Boyd  avoided  it. 

"  Your  minister  is  a  man  that  should  be 
ashamed  to  enter  a  kirk  and  preach  the  Gos- 
pel. Who  would  associate  with  the  like  of 
Quintin  MacClellan?  " 

"  Of  a  certainty  not  traitors  and  turn- 
coats!" cried  a  deep  voice  in  the  background, 
toward  which  all  turned  in  amazement. 

It  was  that  of  Sir  Alexander  Gordon  of 
Earlstoun,  the  reputed  head  of  the  Societies, 
whose  boast  it  had  been  that  he  could  call  seven 
thousand  men  to  arms  in  the  day  of  trouble. 

I  saw  Boyd  pale  to  the  lips  at  sight  of  him. 

"  I  do  not  argue  with  sectaries!  "  he  stam- 
mered, turning  on  his  heel. 

"  Nor  I  with  knavish  deceivers,"  cried  Al- 
exander Gordon,  "  of  whom  there  are  two  here 
— Andrew  Cameron  and  William  Boyd.  With 
this  right  hand  I  paid  them  the  golden  money 
for  their  education,  wrung  from  the  instant 
needs  of  poor  hill  folk  who  had  lost  their  all, 


26o  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

and  who  depended  oftentime  on  charity  for 
their  bite  of  bread.  From  men  attainted,  from 
men  earning  in  foreign  lands  the  bitter  bread 
of  exile,  from  men  and  women  imprisoned,  shil- 
ling by  shilling,  penny  by  penny,  that  money 
came.  It  was  ill-spent  on  men  like  these.  Wil- 
liam Boyd  and  Andrew  Cameron  swore  solemn 
oaths.  They  took  upon  them  the  unbreakable 
and  immutable  Covenants.  In  time  they  be- 
came ministers,  and  we  looked  for  words  of 
light  and  wisdom  and  guidance  from  them. 
But  we  of  the  Faithful  Remnant  looked  in  vain. 
For  lo!  Caesar  sat  upon  his  throne,  and  right 
gladly  they  bowed  the  knee.  They  licked  the 
gold  from  his  garments  like  honey.  They 
mumbled  his  shoe-string  that  he  might  gra- 
ciously permit  them  to  sit  at  ease  in  his  high 
places. 

'  Bah!  "  he  cried,  so  that  his  voice  was  heard 
miles  off  on  the  hill-tops,  "  out  upon  all  such 
cowards  and  traitors!  And  now,  folk  of  this 
parish,  will  ye  let  such  scurril  loons  persuade 
you  to  give  up  your  true  and  faithful  minister, 
on  whose  tongue  is  the  word  of  truth,  and  in 
whose  heart  is  no  fear  of  the  face  of  any  man?  " 

The  frightened  Presbyters  melted  before 
him,  some  of  them  swarming  off  with  the  men 


RUMOUR   OF   WAR.  26l 

of  evil  life — the  lairds  and  heritors  of  the  parish. 
Others  mounted  their  horses  and  rode  home- 
ward as  if  the  devil  of  Rerrick  himself  had  been 
after  them. 

Thus  was  ended  the  Disputation  of  Cullen- 
och  near  to  Clachanpluck,  in  the  shaming  of 
those  that  withstood  us. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
alexander-jonita's  victory. 

But  as  for  my  brother,  concerning  whom 
was  all  this  pother,  he  took  no  hand  at  all  in 
the  matter.  If  the  people  wished  him  to  abide 
with  them,  they  must  maintain  him  there. 
Contrariwise,  if  the  Master  he  served  had  other 
fields  of  labour,  he  would  break  down  dykes 
and  make  plain  his  path  before  him. 

But  as  it  was,  he  went  about  as  usual  with 
his  pilgrim  staff  in  his  hand  visiting  the  sick, 
succouring  the  poor,  lifting  up  the  head  of 
weakness  and  pain. 

On  the  day  when  the  Sheriff  came  with  his 
men  to  the  water-edge,  Quintin  saw  from  the 
manse  window  a  little  cloud  of  men  running 
hither  and  thither  upon  the  river-bank. 

'  There  is  surely  some  great  ploy  of  fishing 

afoot!  "  he  said,  quietly,  and  so  let  his  eyes  fall 

again  contentedly  upon  his  book. 
262 


ALEXANDER-JONITA'S   VICTORY.  263 

"  Faith,  'tis  easy  to  hoodwink  a  learned 
man,"  cried  Alexander-Jonita  when  I  told  her. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  I  grew  to  love  the 
lass  yet  more  and  more.  For  she  flashed  hither 
and  thither,  and  whereas  she  had  been  no  great 
one  for  housework  hitherto,  now  since  her  sis- 
ter's death  she  would  be  much  more  indoors. 
Also,  with  the  old  man  her  father,  she  was  ex- 
ceedingly patient  in  his  oftentime  garrulity. 
But  specially  in  the  defence  of  the  parish  on 
Quintin's  behalf  against  the  civil  arm,  she  was 
indefatigable. 

Often  she  would  go  dressed  as  a  heartsome 
young  callant,  with  clothes  that  her  own  needle 
had  made,  her  own  deft  fingers  fashioned.  And 
in  cavalier  attire,  I  tell  you,  Alexander-Jonita 
took  the  eyes  of  lass  and  lady.  Once,  when  we 
rode  by  Dee-bridge,  a  haughty  dame  sent  back 
her  servant  to  ask  of  me,  whom  she  took  to  be 
a  man-in-waiting,  the  name  of  the  handsome 
young  gentleman  I  served. 

I  replied  with  dignity,  "  Tis  the  young  Lord 
Alexander  Johnstone,"  which  was  as  near  the 
truth  as  I  could  come  at  a  quick  venture. 

In  that  crowning  ploy  of  which  I  have  still 

to   tell,   it   was   Alexander-Jonita   who   played 

the  leading  part. 
18 


264 


THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 


The  Sheriff,  being  admonished  for  his  slack- 
ness by  his  legal  superiors,  and  complained  of 
by  the  reverend  court  of  the  Presbytery,  re- 
solved to  make  a  bold  push  for  it,  and  at  one 
blow  to  take  final  possession  of  kirk  and  manse. 

So  he  summoned  the  yeomanry  of  the  prov- 
ince to  meet  him  under  arms  at  the  village  of 
Causewayend,  which  stands  near  the  famous 
and  beautiful  loch  of  Carlinwark,  on  a  certain 
day,  under  penalties  of  fine  and  imprisonment. 
And  about  a  hundred  men  on  horseback,  all  well 
armed  and  mounted,  drew  together  on  the  day 
appointed.  A  fine  breezy  day  in  August,  it 
was — when  many  of  them  doubtless  came  with 
small  good-will  from  their  corn-fields,  where  a 
winnowing  wind  searched  the  stooks  till  the 
ripe  grain  rustled  with  the  parched  well-won 
sound  that  is  music  to  the  farmer's  ear. 

But  if  the  news  of  gathering  of  the  yeo- 
manry had  been  spread  by  summons,  far  more 
wide  and  impressive  had  been  the  counter  call 
sent  throughout  the  parish  of  Balmaghie. 

For  farmer  and  cotter  alike  knew  that  mat- 
ters had  come  to  the  perilous  pinch  with  us, 
and  if  it  should  be  that  the  civil  powers  were  not 
turned  aside  now,  all  the  past  watching  and 
sacrifice  would  prove  in  vain. 


ALEXANDER-JONITA'S   VICTORY.  265 

It  was  about  noon  when  the  sentinels  re- 
ported that  the  Sheriff  and  his  hundred  horse- 
men had  crossed  Dee  water,  and  were  advanc- 
ing by  rapid  stages. 

Now  it  was  Jonita's  plan  to  draw  together 
the  women  also — for  what  purpose  we  did  not 
see.  But  since  she  had  summoned  them  her- 
self it  was  not  for  any  of  us  young  men  to  say 
her  nay. 

So  by  the  green  roadside,  a  mile  from  the 
manse  and  kirk,  Jonita  had  her  hundred  and 
fifty  or  more  women  assembled,  old  and  young, 
mothers  of  families  and  wrinkled  grandmothers 
thereof,  young  maidens  with  the  blushes  on 
their  cheeks  and  the  snood  yet  unloosed  about 
their  hair. 

Faith,  spite  of  the  grandmothers,  many  a 
lad  of  us  would  have  desired  to  be  of  that  com- 
pany that  day!  But  Alexander-Jonita  would 
have  none  of  us.  We  were  to  keep  the  castle, 
so  she  commanded,  with  gun  and  sword.  We 
were  to  sit  in  our  trenches  about  the  kirk,  and 
let  the  women  be  our  advance  guard. 

So  when  the  trampling  of  horses  was  heard 
from  the  southward,  and  the  cavalcade  came 
to  the  narrows  of  the  way,  "  Halt!  "  cried  Alex- 
ander-Jonita suddenly.     And  leaping  out  of  the 


266  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

thicket  like  a  young  roe  of  the  mountains,  she 
seized  the  Sheriff's  bridle  rein.  At  the  same 
moment  her  hundred  and  fifty  women  trooped 
out  and  stood  ranked  and  silent  right  across 
the  path  of  the  horsemen. 

"  What  do  ye  here?  Let  go,  besom!  "  cried 
the  Sheriff. 

"  Go  back  to  those  that  sent  ye,  Sheriff," 
commanded  Alexander-Jonita,  "  for  an'  ye  will 
put  out  our  minister,  ye  must  ride  over  us  and 
wet  the  feet  of  your  horses  in  our  women's 
blood." 

"  Out  upon  you,  lass!  Let  men  do  their 
work!  "  cried  the  Sheriff,  who  was  a  jolly,  rol- 
licking man,  and,  moreover,  as  all  knew,  like 
most  sheriffs,  not  unkindly  disposed  to  the  sex. 

"  Leave  you  our  minister  alone  to  do  his 
work.  I  warrant  he  will  not  meddle  with  you," 
answered  Alexander-Jonita. 

"Faith,  but  you  are  a  well-plucked  one! ': 
cried  the  Sheriff,  looking  down  with  admiration 
on  her,  "  but  now  out  of  the  way  with  you,  for 
I  must  forward  with  my  work." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  lass,  "  ye  may  turn  where  ye 
are,  and  ride  back  whence  ye  came,  for  we  will 
by  no  means  let  you  proceed  one  step  nearer  to 
the  kirk  of  Balmaghie  this  day!  " 


ALEXANDER-JONITA  S  VICTORY.  267 

"  Forward!  "  cried  the  Sheriff,  loudly,  to  his 
men,  thinking  to  intimidate  the  women. 

"Stand  firm,  lasses!"  cried  Alexander-Jo- 
nita,  clinging  to  the  Sheriff's  bridle-rein. 

And  the  company  of  yeomanry  stood  still, 
for,  being  mostly  householders  and  fathers  of 
families,  they  could  not  bring  themselves  to 
charge  a  company  of  women,  as  it  might  be 
their  own  wives  and  daughters. 

"  Forward!  "  cried  the  Sheriff  again. 

"  Aye,  forward,  gallant  cavaliers!  "  cried  Al- 
exander-Jonita,  ;'  forward,  and  ye  shall  have 
great  honour,  Sheriff!  More  famous  than  my 
Lord  Marlborough  shall  be  ye.  Ride  us  down. 
Put  your  horses  to  their  speed.  Be  assured  we 
will  not  flinch!  " 

Time  and  again  the  Sheriff  tried,  now 
threatening  and  now  cajoling;  but  equally  to 
no  purpose. 

At  last  he  grew  tired. 

"  This  is  a  thankless  job,"  he  said,  turning 
him  about;  "let  them  send  their  soldiers.  I 
am  not  obliged  to  fight  for  it." 

And  so  with  a  "  right  about  "  and  a  wave  of 
the  hand  he  took  his  valiant  horsemen  off  by 
the  way  they  came. 

And  as   they   went   they  say   that   many  a 


268  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

youth  turned  him  on  his  saddle  to  cast  a  long- 
ing look  upon  Alexander-Jonita,  who  stood 
there  tall  and  straight  in  the  place  where  she 
had  so  boldly  confronted  the  Sheriff. 

Then  the  women  sang  a  psalm,  while  Alex- 
ander-Jonita, leaping  on  a  horse,  rode  a  musket- 
shot  behind  the  retiring  force,  till  she  had  seen 
them  safely  across  the  river  at  the  fords  of  Glen- 
lochar,  and  so  finally  out  of  the  parish  bounds. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    ELDERS    OF    THE    HILL    FOLK. 

(The  Narrative  taken  up  again  by  Quintin  Mac- 

Clellan.) 

It  was  long  before  I  could  see  clearly  the 
way  I  should  go,  after  that  dismal  day  and 
night  of  which  I  have  told  the  tale. 

It  seemed  as  if  there  was  no  goodness  on  the 
earth,  no  use  in  my  work,  no  right  or  excel- 
lency in  the  battle  I  had  fought  and  the  sacri- 
fice I  had  made.  Ought  I  not  even  now  to 
give  way?  Surely  God  had  not  meant  a  man 
so  poor  in  spirit,  so  easily  cast  down  to  hold 
aloft  the  standard  of  his  ancient  kirk. 

But  nevertheless,  here  before  me  and  around 
me,  a  present  duty,  were  my  parish  and  my 
poor  folk,  so  brave  and  loyal  and  steadfast. 
Could  I  forsake  them?  Daily  I  heard  tidings 
of  their  struggling  with  the  arm  of  flesh,  though 
I  now  judge  that  Hob,  in  some  fear  of  my  dis- 
approval, would  not  venture  to  tell  me  all. 

269 


270  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

Yet  I  misdoubted  that  I  had  brought  my 
folk  into  a  trouble  which  might  in  the  event 
prove  a  grievous  enough  one  for  them. 

But  a  kind  Providence  watched  over  them 
and  me.  For  even  when  it  came  to  the  storm- 
iest, the  wind  ceased  and  there  was  a  blissful 
breathing  time  of  quietness  and  peace. 

Also  there  was  that  happened  about  this 
time  which  brought  us  at  least  for  a  time  assur- 
ance and  security  within  our  borders. 

It  was,  as  I  remember  it,  a  gurly  night  in 
late  September,  the  wind  coming  in  gusts  and 
swirling  flaws  from  every  quarter,  very  evident- 
ly blowing  up  for  a  storm. 

Hob  had  come  in  silently  and  set  him  down 
by  the  fire.  He  was  peeling  a  willow  wand  for 
his  basket-weaving  and  looking  into  the  em- 
bers. I  could  hear  Martha  Little,  our  sharp- 
tongued  servant  lass,  clattering  among  her  pots 
and  pans  in  the  kitchen.  As  for  me  I  was 
among-  my  books,  deep  in  Greek,  which  to 
my  shame  I  had  been  somewhat  neglecting  of 
late. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  loud  knocking  at  the 
outer  door. 

I  looked  at  my  plaid  hung  up  to  dry,  and 
bethought  me  who  might  be  ill  and  in  want 


THE   ELDERS   OF   THE    HILL   FOLK. 


271 


of  my  ministrations  upon  such  a  threatening- 
night. 

I  could  hear  Martha  go  to  the  door,  and  the 
low  murmur  of  voices  without. 

Then  the  door  of  the  chamber  opened  and 
I  saw  the  faces  and  forms  of  half-a-dozen  men 
in  the  passage. 

"  It  has  come  at  last,"  thought  I,  for  I  ex- 
pected that  it  might  be  the  Sheriff  and  his 
men  come  to  expel  me  from  the  kindly  shelter 
of  the  manse.  And  though  I  should  have  sub- 
mitted, I  knew  well  that  there  would  be  blood- 
shed on  the  morrow  among  my  poor  folk. 

But  it  turned  out  far  otherwise. 

The  first  who  entered  into  the  house-place 
was  a  tall,  thin,  darkish  man,  with  a  white  pal- 
lor of  face  and  rigid  fallen-in  temples.  His 
eyes  were  fiery  as  burning  coals,  deep  set  under 
his  bushy  eyebrows.  Following  him  came  Sir 
Alexander  Gordon  of  Earlstoun  and  in  the  lee 
of  his  mighty  form  three  or  four  others — douce, 
grave,  hodden-grey  men  every  one  of  them, 
earnest  of  eye  and  quiet  of  carriage. 

Hob  went  out,  unobserved  as  was  his  mod- 
est wont,  and  I  motioned  them  with  courtesy 
and  observance  to  such  seats  as  my  little  study 
afforded. 


272  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

As  usual  there  were  stools  everywhere,  with 
books  upon  them,  and  I  observed  with  what 
careful  scrupulosity  the  men  laid  these  upon 
the  table  before  sitting  down.  A  Hebrew  Bible 
lay  open  on  the  desk,  and  one  after  another 
stooped  over  it  with  an  eager  look  of  reverence. 

I  waited  for  them  to  speak. 

It  was  the  tall  dark  man  who  first  broke 
silence. 

'  Reverend  sir,"  he  said,  "  what  my  name 
is,  it  skills  me  not  to  tell.  Enough  that  I  am 
a  man  that  has  suffered  much  from  the  strivings 
of  fleshly  thorns,  from  the  persecutions  of  un- 
godly man.  But  now  I  am  charged  with  a 
mission  and  a  message. 

'  You  have  been  cast  out  of  the  Kirk  for 
adherence  to  the  ancient  way.  Yet  you  have 
upheld  in  weakness  and  the  frailty  of  mortal 
man  the  banner  of  the  older  Covenant.  You 
are  not  ignorant  that  there  are  still  societies 
and  general  meetings  of  the  Suffering  Rem- 
nant of  men  who  have  never  declined,  as  you 
yourself  have  done,  from  the  plain  way  of  con- 
science and  righteousness. 

'  Yet  the  man  doth  not  live  who  doeth  good 
and  sinneth  not.  So  because  we  desire  a  minis- 
ter, we  would  offer  you  the  strong  sustaining 


THE   ELDERS   OF   THE    HILL   FOLK.        273 

hand.  Though  you  be  not  able  at  once  to  unite 
with  us,  nor  for  the  present  to  take  upon  you 
our  strait  and  heavy  testimony,  yet  because  you 
have  been  faithful  to  your  lights  we  will  stand 
by  you  and  see  that  no  man  hinder  or  molest 
you." 

And  the  others,  beginning  with  Sir  Alex- 
ander Gordon,  said  likewise,  "  We  will  support 
you!" 

Then  I  knew  that  these  men  were  the  lead- 
ers and  elders  among  the  Hill  Folk,  and  the 
ancient  reverence  to  which  I  was  born  took 
hold  on  me.  For  I  had  been  brought  up 
among  them  as  a  lad,  and  my  mother  had 
spoken  to  me  constantly  of  their  great  piety 
and  abounding  steadfastness  in  the  day  of  trou- 
ble. These  were  they  who  had  never  tangled 
themselves  with  any  entrapping  engagements. 
They  alone  were  no  seceders,  for  they  had  never 
entered  any  State  Church. 

With  a  great  price  had  I  obtained  this  free- 
dom, but  these  men  were  free-born. 

"  I  thank  you,  sirs,"  I  answered,  bowing  my 
head.  "  I  have  indeed  sought  to  keep  the  Way, 
but  I  have  erred  so  greatly  in  the  past  that  I 
cannot  hope  to  guide  my  path  aright  for  the 
future.     But   one   thing    I   shall   at   least    seek 


274 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


after,  and  that  is  the  glory  of  the  great  King, 
and  the  honour  and  independence  of  the  Kirk 
of  God   in   Scotland,   Covenanted   and   Suffer- 


ing! 


The  dark  stern-faced  man  spoke  again. 
1  You  are  not  yet  one  of  us.  You  have  yet 
a  far  road  to  travel.  But  I,  that  am  old,  see  a 
vision.  And  one  day  you,  Ouintin  MacClellan, 
shall  serve  tables  among  us  of  the  Covenant. 
I  shall  not  see  it  with  the  eyes  of  flesh.  For 
even  now  my  days  are  numbered,  and  the  tale 
of  them  is  brief.  Farewell!  Be  not  afraid. 
The  Seven  Thousand  will  stand  behind  you. 
No  evil  shall  befall  you  here  or  otherwhere. 
The  Seven  Thousand  have  sworn  it — they  have 
sworn  it  on  the  Holy  Book,  in  the  place  of 
Martyrs  and  in  the  House  of  Tears! ': 

And  with  that  the  six  men  went  out 
through  the  door  and  were  lost  in  the  darkness 
of  the  night.  And  the  wind  from  the  waste 
swept  in  and  the  lowe  of  the  candle  flickered 
eerily  as  if  they  had  been  visitants  from  another 
world. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

SILENCE    IS    GOLDEN. 

It  was  not  long  after  this  that  I  found  my- 
self, almost  against  my  will,  skirting  the  side  of 
the  long  Loch  of  Ken,  on  the  road  to  the  Great 
House  of  Earlstoun. 

The  lady  of  the  Castle  met  me  by  the  outer 
gate.  When  I  came  near  her  she  lifted  up  her 
hands  like  a  prophetess. 

'  Three  times  have  ye  been  warned !  The 
Lord  will  not  deal  always  gently  with  you.  It 
is  ill  to  run  with  the  hares  and  hunt  with  the 
hounds!  " 

'  Mistress  Gordon,"  said  I,  "  wherein  have 
I  now  offended? ':  For  indeed  there  was  no 
saying  what  cantrip  she  had  taken  into  her 
head. 

"  How  was  it  then,"  she  said,  "  that  the  talk 
went  through  the  countryside  that  ye  were  mar- 
ried to  that  lassie  Jean  Gemmell  on  her  dying 

bed?" 

275 


276  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

'  It  is  true,"  said  I,  "  but  wherein  was  the 
sin?" 

'  Oh,"  said  she,  '  the  sin  was  not  in  the 
marrying  (though  that  was  doubtless  a  silly- 
caper  and  the  lass  so  near  Dead's  door),  but 
in  being  married  by  a  minister  of  the  Kirk  Es- 
tablished and  uncovenanted." 

'  But  what  else  could  I  have  done? "  I 
hasted  to  make  answer;  "  there  are  none  other 
in  all  Scotland.  For  the  Hill  Folk  have  never 
had  an  ordained  minister,  since  they  took  down 
James  Renwick's  body  from  the  gallows  tree, 
and  wrapped  him  gently  in  swaddling  clothes 
for  his  burial." 

'It  is  even  true,"  she  said,  "but  I  would 
have  gone  unmarried  till  my  dying  day  before 
I  would  have  let  an  Erastian  servant  of  Belial 
couple  me.  But  I  forgat — 'tis  not  long  since 
you  yourself  escaped  from  that  fold!  v 

So  there  she  stood  so  long  on  the  step  of 
the  door  and  argued  concerning  the  points  of 
faith  and  doctrine  without  ever  asking  me  in, 
that  at  last  I  grew  weary,  and  begged  that  she 
would  permit  me  to  sit  and  refresh  me  on  the 
step  of  the  well-house,  which  was  close  at  hand, 
even  under  the  arch  of  the  gateway. 

r<  Aye,  surely,  ye  may  that!"  she  made  me 


SILENCE   IS   GOLDEN.  277 

answer,  and  again  took  up  her  parable  without 
further  offer  of  hospitality. 

And  even  thus  they  found  us,  when  Mary 
Gordon  and  her  father  returned  from  the  hill, 
walking  hand  in  hand  as  was  their  wont. 

"  Wi'  Janet,  woman!"  cried  hearty  Alex- 
ander, "  what  ails  you  at  the  minister  that 
ye  have  set  him  down  there  by  the  waters 
o'  Babylon  like  a  pelican  in  the  wilderness? 
Could  ye  no  hae  asked  the  laddie  ben  and 
gied  him  bite  and  sup?  Come,  lad,"  cried 
he,  reaching  me  a  hand,  '  step  up  wi'  me — 
there's  brandy  in  the  cupboard  as  auld  as 
yoursel'!  " 

But  as  for  me  I  had  thought  of  nothing  but 
the  look  in  Mary  Gordon's  eyes. 

"Brandy!"  cried  Jean  Hamilton.  "  Alex- 
ander, think  shame — you  that  are  an  elder  and 
have  likewise  been  privileged  to  be  a  sufferer 
for  the  cause  of  truth,  to  be  speaking  about 
French  brandy  at  this  hour  o'  the  day.  Do  ye 
not  see  that  I  have  been  refreshing  the  soul  of 
this  poor,  weak,  downcast  brother  with  appro- 
priate meditations  from  my  own  spiritual  diary 
and  covenantings?  " 

She  took  again  a  little  closely-written  book 
from  her  swinging  side-pocket. 


278  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

"  Let  me  see,  we  were,  I  think,  at  the  third 
section,  and  the " 

"  Lord  help  its — I'm  azva!  "  cried  Sandy  Gor- 
don suddenly,  and  vanished  up  the  turnpike 
stair.  Mary  Gordon  held  out  her  hand  to  me 
in  silence,  permitted  her  eyes  to  rest  a  moment 
on  mine  in  calm  and  friendly  fashion,  all  with- 
out anger  or  embarrassment,  and  then  softly 
withdrawing  her  hand  she  followed  her  father 
up  the  stairs. 

I  was  again  left  alone  with  the  Lady  of 
Earlstoun. 

Tis  a  terrible  cross  that  I  must  bear,"  said 
that  lugubrious  professor,  shaking  her  head, 
"  in  that  my  man  hath  not  the  inborn  grace 
of  my  brother — ah — that  proven  testifier, 
that  most  savoury  professor,  Sir  Robert  Ham- 
ilton. For  our  Sandy  is  a  man  that  cannot 
stand  prosperity  and  the  quiet  of  the  bieldy 
bush.  In  time  of  peace  he  becomes  like  a 
rusty  horologe.  He  needs  affliction  and  the 
evil  day,  that  his  wheels  may  be  taken  to 
pieces,  oiled  with  the  oil  of  mourning,  washed 
with  tears  of  bitterness,  and  then  set  up 
anew.  Then  for  a  while  he  goes  on  not 
that  ill." 

'  Your   husband    has   come    through    great 


SILENCE    IS   GOLDEN.  27Q 

trials!  "  I  said.  For  indeed  I  scarce  knew  what 
to  say  to  such  a  woman. 

"Sandy — O  aye!'  cried  his  wife.  "But 
what  are  his  trials  to  the  ills  which  I  have  en- 
dured with  none  to  pity?  Have  not  I  suffered 
his  carnal  doings  well-nigh  thirty  years  and  held 
my  peace?  Have  I  not  wandered  by  the  burn- 
side  and  mourned  for  his  sin?  And  now,  worse 
than  all,  my  children  seek  after  their  father's 
ways." 

"  Janet  Hamilton,"  cried  a  great  voice  from 
a  window  of  the  tower,  "  is  there  no  dinner  to 
be  gotten  this  day  in  the  house  of  Earlstoun?  " 

The  lady  lifted  up  her  hands  in  holy 
horror. 

'  Dinner,  dinner — is  this  a  time  to  be  think- 
ing aboot  eating  and  drinking,  when  the  land  is 
full  of  ravening  and  wickedness,  and  when  in- 
iquity sits  unashamed  in  high  places?  " 

'  Never  ye  heed  fash  your  thumb  about  the 
high  places,  Janet  my  woman,"  cried  her  hus- 
band from  the  window,  out  of  which  his  burly, 
jovial  head  protruded.  "  E'en  come  your  ways 
in,  my  denty,  and  turn  the  weelgaun  mill-hap- 
per  o'  your  tongue  on  yon  lazy,  guid-for-nae- 
thing  besoms  in  the  kitchen.     Then  the  high 

places  will  never  steer  ye,  and  ye  will  hae  a 
19 


28o  THE    STANDARD   BEARER. 

stronger  stomach  to  wrestle  wi'  the  rest  o'  the 
sins  o'  the  times!  " 

"  Sandy,  Sandy,  ye  were  ever  by  nature  a 
mocker!  I  fear  ye  have  been  looking  upon  the 
strong  drink!  " 

"  Faith,  lass,"  replied  her  husband,  with  the 
utmost  good  humour,  "  I  was  e'en  looking  for 
it — but  the  plague  o'  muckle  o't  there  is  to 
be  seen." 

The  Lady  of  Earlstoun  arose  forthwith  and 
went  into  the  tall  tower,  from  the  lower  stories 
of  which  her  voice,  raised  in  flyting  and  contu- 
melious discourse,  could  be  distinctly  heard. 

"  Ungrateful  madams,"  so  she  addressed  her 
subordinates,  "  get  about  your  business!  Hear 
ye  not  that  the  Laird  is  quarrelling  for  his  din- 
ner, which  ought  to  have  been  served  half-an- 
hour  as:o  bv  the  clock! 

"  Nay,  tell  me  not  that  I  keeped  you  so  long 
at  the  taking  of  the  Book  that  there  was  no 
time  left  for  the  kirning  of  the  butter.  Never 
ought  is  lost  by  the  service  of  the  Lord." 

Thus  I  sat  on  the  well  kerb,  listening  to  the 
poor  wenches  getting,  as  the  saw  hath  it,  their 
kail  through  the  reek.  But  at  that  moment 
I  observed  Sandy  Gordon's  head  look  through 
the  open  window.     He  beckoned  me   to   him 


SILENCE    IS   GOLDEN.  28l 

with  his  finger  in  a  cunning  manner.  I  went 
up  the  stairs  with  intent  to  find  the  room  where 
he  was,  but  by  a  curious  mischance  I  alighted 
instead  on  the  long  oaken  chamber  where  I  had 
been  entertained  of  yore  by  Mistress  Mary. 

I  found  her  there  again,  busy  with  the  or- 
dering of  the  table,  setting  out  platters  and 
silver  of  price,  the  like  of  which  I  had  never 
seen,  save  as  it  might  be  in  the  house  of  the 
Laird  of  Girthon. 

'  Come  your  ways  in,  sir,"  she  said,  briskly, 
"  and  help  me  with  my  work." 

This  I  had  been  very  glad  to  do,  but  that 
I  knew  her  father  was  waiting  for  me  above. 

'  Right  willingly,"  said  I,  "  but  Earlstoun 
himself  desires  my  presence  aloft  in  his  cham- 
ber." 

She  gave  her  shoulders  a  dainty  little  shrug 
in  the  foreign  manner  she  had  learned  from  her 
cousin  Kate  of  Lochinvar. 

"  I  think,"  she  said,  "  that  the  job  at  which 
ye  would  find  my  father  can  be  managed  with- 
out your  assistance." 

So  in  the  great  chamber  I  abode  very  grate- 
fully. And  with  the  best  will  in  the  world  I 
set  myself  to  the  fetching  and  carrying  of 
dishes,  the  spreading  of  table-cloths  fine  as  the 


282        THE  STANDARD  BEARER. 

driven  snow.  And  all  the  time  my  heart  beat 
fast  within  me.  For  I  had  never  before  been 
so  near  this  maid  of  the  great  folk,  nor  so  much 
as  touched  the  robe  that  rustled  about  her, 
sweet  and  dainty. 

And  I  do  not  deny  (surely  I  may  write  it 
here)  that  the  doing  of  these  things  afforded 
me  many  thrills  of  heart,  the  like  of  which  I 
have  not  experienced  ofttimes  even  on  other 
and  higher  occasions. 

And  as  I  helped  the  Lady  Mary,  or  pre- 
tended to  help  her  rather,  she  continued  to 
converse  sweetly  and  comfortably  to  me.  But 
all  as  it  had  been  my  sister  Anna  speaking — a 
thousand  miles  from  any  thought  of  love.  Her 
eyes  beneath  the  long  dark  lashes  remained  cool 
and  quiet. 

'  I  am  glad,"  she  said,  "  that  ye  have  played 
the  man,  and  withstood  your  enemies  even  to 
the  last  extremity." 

'  I  could  do  no  other,"  I  made  answer. 

'  There  are  very  many  who  could  very  well 
have  '  done  other '  without  stressing  them- 
selves," she  said. 

And  I  well  knew  that  she  meant  Mr.  Boyd, 
who  was  the  neighbouring  minister  and  a  rec- 
reant from  the  Societies. 


.    SILENCE   IS   GOLDEN.  283 

Then  she  looked  very  carefully  to  the  order- 
ing of  certain  wild  flowers,  which  like  a  bairn 
she  had  been  out  gathering,  and  had  now  set 
forth  in  sundry  flat  dishes  in  the  table-midst, 
in  a  fashion  I  had  never  seen  before.  More 
than  once  she  spilled  a  little  of  the  water  upon 
the  cloth,  and  cried  out  upon  herself  for  her 
stupidity  in  the  doing  of  it,  discovering  ever 
fresh  delights  in  the  delicate  grace  of  her  move- 
ments, the  swinging  of  her  dress,  and  in  especial 
a  pretty  quick  way  she  had  of  jerking  back  her 
head  to  see  if  she  had  gotten  the  colour  and 
ordering  of  the  flowers  to  her  mind. 

This  I  minded  for  long  after,  and  even  now 
it  comes  so  fresh  before  me  that  I  can  see  her 
at  it  now. 

"  I  heard  of  the  young  lass  of  Drumglass 
and  her  love  for  you,"  she  said  presently,  very 
softly,  and  without  looking  at  me,  fingering  at 
the  flowers  in  the  shallow  basins  and  pulling 
them  this  way  and  that. 

I  did  not  answer,  but  stood  looking  at  her 
with  my  head  hanging  down,  and  a  mighty 
weight  about  my  heart. 

"  You  must  have  loved  her  greatly?  ':'  she 
said,  still  more  softly. 

"  I  married  her,"  said  I,  curtly.     But  in  a 


284  THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 

moment  was  ashamed  of  the  answer.  Yet  what 
more  could  I  say  with  truth?  But  I  had  the 
grace  to  add,  "  Almost  I  was  heartbroken  for 
her  death." 

"  She  was  happy  when  she  died,  they  said," 
she  went  on,  tentatively. 

"  She  died  with  her  hand  in  mine,"  I  an- 
swered, steadily,  "  and  when  she  could  not 
speak  any  longer  she  still  pressed  it." 

"  Ah !  that  is  the  true  love  which  can  make 
even  death  sweet,"  she  said.  '  I  should  like  to 
plant  Lads'  Love  and  None-so-pretty  upon  her 
grave." 

Yet  all  the  while  I  desired  to  tell  her  of 
my  love  for  herself,  and  how  the  other  was  not 
even  a  heat  of  the  blood,  but  only  for  the  com- 
forting of  a  dying  girl. 

Nevertheless  I  could  not  at  that  time.  For 
it  seemed  a  dishonourable  word  to  speak  of  one 
who  was  so  lately  dead,  and,  in  name  and  for 
an  hour  at  least,  had  been  my  wife. 

Then  all  too  soon  we  heard  the  noise  of 
Sandy  her  father  upon  the  garret  stair,  tram- 
pling down  with  his  great  boots  as  if  he  would 
bring  the  whole  wood-work  of  the  building  with 
him  bodily. 

Mary  Gordon  heard  it,   too,   for  she  came 


SILENCE   IS   GOLDEN. 


285 


hastily  about  to  the  end  of  the  table  where  I 
had  stood  transfixed  all  the  time  she  was  speak- 
ing of  Jean  Gemmell. 

She  set  a  dish  on  the  cloth,  and  as  she 
brought  her  hand  back  she  laid  it  on  mine 
quickly,  and,  looking  up  with  such  a  warm  light 
of  gracious  wisdom  and  approval  in  her  eyes 
that  my  heart  was  like  water  within  me,  she 
said:  "  Quintin,  you  are  a  truer  man  than  I 
thought.  I  love  your  silences  better  than  your 
speeches." 

And  at  her  words  my  heart  gave  a  great 
bound  within  me,  for  I  thought  that  at  last 
she  understood.  Then  she  passed  away,  and 
became  even  more  cold  and  distant  than  before, 
not  even  bidding  me  farewell  when  I  took  my 
departure.  But  as  I  went  down  the  loaning 
with  her  father  she  looked  out  of  the  turret 
window,  and  waved  the  hand  that  had  lain  for 
an  instant  upon  mine. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

THE    FALL    OF    EARLSTOUN. 

It  was  toward  the  mellow  end  of  August 
that  there  came  a  sough  of  things  terrible 
wafted  down  the  fair  glen  of  the  Kens,  a  sough 
which  neither  lost  in  volume  nor  in  bitterness 
when  it  turned  into  the  wider  strath  of  the  Dee. 

It  arrived  in  time  at  the  Manse  of  Balmag- 
hie,  as  all  things  are  sure  to  turn  manseward 
ere  a  day  pass  in  the  land  of  Galloway. 

One  evening  in  the  quiet  space  between  the 
end  of  hay  and  the  first  sickle-sweep  of  harvest, 
Hob  came  in  with  more  than  his  ordinary  sol- 
emn staidness. 

But  he  said  nothing  till  we  were  over  with 
the  taking  of  the  Book  and  ready  to  go  to  bed. 
Then  as  he  was  winding  the  watch  I  had 
brought  him  from  Edinburgh  he  glanced  up 
once  at  me. 

'  When  ye  were  last  at  Earlstoun,"  he  said, 

"  heard  ye  any  news?  " 

286 


THE   FALL   OF   EARLSTOUN.  287 

I  thought  he  meant  at  first  that  Mary 
was  to  be  married,  and  it  may  be  that  my 
face  showed  too  clearly  the  anxiety  of  the 
heart. 

"  About    Sandy   himself?  '    he   hastened    to 

add. 

"  About  Alexander  Gordon?  "  cried  I  in  as- 
tonishment. "  What  ill  news  would  I  hear 
about  Alexander  Gordon  of  Earlstoun? ,! 

He  nodded,  finished  the  winding  of  his  hor- 
ologe, held  it  gravely  to  his  ear  to  assure  him- 
self that  it  was  going,  and  then  nodded  again. 
For  that  was  Hob's  way. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  the  Presbytery  have  had 
him  complained  of  to  them  for  drunkenness  and 
worse.  And  they  will  excommunicate  him 
with  the  greatest  excommunication  if  he  decline 
their  authority." 

"  But  Earlstoun  is  not  of  their  communion," 
I  cried,  much  astonished,  the  matter  being  none 
of  the  Presbytery's  business;  "  he  is  of  the  Hill- 
folk,  an  elder  and  mainstay  among  them  for 
thirty  years." 

"  The  Presbytery  have  made  it  their  busi- 
ness because  he  is  a  well-wisher  of  yours,"  said 
Hob.  "  Besides,  the  report  of  it  has  already 
gone  abroad  throughout  the  land,  and  they  say 


288  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

that  the  matter  will  be  brought  before  the  next 
general  meeting  of  the  societies." 

"  And  in  the  meantime?"  I  began. 

"  In  the  meantime,"  said  Hob,  "  those  of 
the  Hill-folk  who  form  the  Committee  of  the 
Seven  Thousand  have  suspended  him  from  his 
eldership!  " 

Hob  paused,  as  he  ever  did  when  he  had 
more  to  tell,  and  was  considering  how  to  begin. 

1  Go  on,  Hob,"  cried  I — testily  enough,  I 
fear. 

'  They  say  that  his  old  seizure  has  come 
again  upon  him.  He  sits  in  an  upper  room 
like  a  beast,  and  will  be  approached  by  none. 
And  some  declare  that,  like  King  David,  he 
feigns  madness,  others  that  he  has  been  driven 
mad  by  the  sin  and  the  shame." 

Now  this  was  sore  and  grievous  tidings  to 
me,  not  only  because  of  Mary  Gordon,  but  for 
the  sake  of  the  cause. 

For  Alexander  Gordon  had  been  during  a 
generation  the  most  noted  Covenanter  of  the 
stalwart  sort  in  Scotland.  He  had  suffered  al- 
most unto  death  without  wavering  in  the  old 
ill  times  of  Charles  and  James.  He  had  lan- 
guished long  in  prison,  both  in  the  Castle  of 
Edinburgh    and    that    of    Blackness.     He    had 


THE   FALL   OF   EARLSTOUN.  289 

come  to  the  first  frosting  of  the  hair  with  a 
name  clear  and  untainted.  And  now  when  he 
stood  at  the  head  of  the  Covenanting  remnant 
it  was  like  the  downfall  of  a  god  that  he  should 
so  decline  from  his  place  and  pride. 

Then  the  other  part  of  the  news  that  the 
Presbytery,  as  the  representatives  and  custo- 
dians of  morals,  were  to  lay  upon  him  the 
Greater  Excommunication  was  also  a  thing 
hard  and  bitter.  For  if  they  did  so  it  inferred 
the  penalties  of  being  shut  off  from  communion 
with  man  in  the  market-place  and  with  God  in 
the  closet.  The  man  who  spoke  to  the  excom- 
municated partook  of  the  crime.  And  though 
the  power  of  the  Presbytery  to  loose  and  to 
bind  had  somewhat  declined  of  late,  yet,  never- 
theless, the  terror  of  the  major  anathema  still 
pressed  heavily  upon  the  people. 

Hob  went  soberly  up  to  his  bedroom.  The 
boards  creaked  as  he  threw  himself  down,  and 
I  could  hear  him  fall  quiet  in  a  minute.  But 
sleep  would  not  come  to  my  eyelids.  At  last 
I  arose  from  my  naked  bed  and  took  my  way 
down  to  the  water-side  by  which  I  had  walked 
oftentimes  in  dark  days  and  darker  nights. 

Then  as  I  was  able  I  put  before  Him  who 
is  never  absent  the  case  of  Alexander  Gordon. 


290  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

And  I  wrestled  long  as  to  what  I  should  do. 
Sometimes  I  thought  of  him  as  my  friend,  and 
again  I  knew  that  it  was  chiefly  for  the  sake  of 
Mary  Gordon  that  I  was  thus  greatly  troubled. 

But  with  the  dawning  of  the  morning  came 
some  rest  and  a  growing  clearness  of  purpose — 
such  as  always  comes  to  the  soul  of  man  when, 
out  of  the  indefinite  turmoil  of  perplexity,  some- 
thing to  be  done  swims  up  from  the  gulf  and 
stands  clear  before  the  inward  eye. 

I  would  go  to  Earlstoun  and  have  speech 
with  Alexander  Gordon.  The  Presbytery  had 
condemned  him  unheard.  His  own  folk  of  the 
Societies — at  least,  some  of  the  elders  of  them 
— had  been  ready  to  believe  an  evil  report  and 
had  suspended  him  from  his  office.  He  heeded 
a  minister's  dealing,  or  at  least  a  friend's  advice. 
I  was  both,  and  there  was  all  the  more  reason 
because  I  was  neither  of  the  Kirk  that  had  con- 
demned nor  of  the  communion  which  was 
ready  to  believe  an  ill  report  of  its  noblest  and 
highest. 

It  was  little  past  the  dawning  when,  being 
still  sleepless,  I  set  my  hat  on  my  head,  and, 
taking  staff  in  hand,  set  off  up  the  wet  meadow- 
edges  to  walk  to  Earlstoun.  I  heard  the  black- 
cap sing  sweetly  down  among  the  gall-bushes 


THE    FALL   OF   EARLSTOUN. 


29I 


of  the  meadow.  A  blackbird  turned  up  some 
notes  of  his  morning  song,  but  drowsily,  and 
without  the  young  ardour  of  spring  and  the 
rathe  summer  time.  Suddenly  the  east  bright- 
ened and  rent.     The  day  strode  over  the  land. 

I  journeyed  on,  the  sun  beating  hotly  upon 
me.  It  was  very  evidently  to  be  a  day  of  fer- 
vent heat.  Soon  I  had  to  take  off  my  coat, 
and  as  I  carried  it  country  fashion  over  my 
shoulder  the  harvesters  gave  me  good-day  from 
the  cornfields  of  the  pleasant  strath  of  the  ken, 
and  over  the  hated  park-dykes  which  the  land- 
lords were  beginning  to  build. 

Mostly  when  I  walked  abroad  I  observed 
nothing,  but  to-day  I  saw  everything  with 
strange  clearness,  as  one  sometimes  does  in  a 
vision  or  when  stricken  with  fever. 

I  noted  how  the  red  willow-herb  grew 
among  the  river  stones  and  set  fire  to  little 
pebbly  islands.  The  lilies,  yellow  and  white, 
basked  and  winked  belated  on  the  still  and 
glowing  water.  The  cattle,  both  nolt  and  kye, 
stood  knee-deep  in  the  shallows — to  me  the 
sweetest  and  most  summersome  of  all  rural 
sights. 

As  I  drew  near  to  New  Galloway  a  score 
of  laddies  squattered  like  ducks  and  squabbled 


292 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


like  shrill  scolding  blackbirds  in  and  out  of  the 
water,  or  darted  naked  through  the  copsewood 
at  the  loch's  head,  playing  '  hide-and-seek " 
about  the  tree-trunks. 

And  through  all  pulsed  the  thought,  "  What 
shall  I  say  to  my  friend?  Shall  I  be  faithful  in 
questioning,  faithful  in  chastening  and  rebuke? 
Shall  I  take  part  with  Mary  Gordon's  father, 
and  for  her  sake  stand  and  fall  with  him?  Or 
are  my  message  and  my  Master  more  to  me 
than  any  earthly  love?  "  I  feared  the  human 
was  indeed  mightier  in  my  heart  of  hearts. 
Nevertheless  something  seemed  to  arise  within 
me  greater  than  myself. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

LOVE    OR    DUTY. 

I  passed  by  the  little  Clachan  of  St.  John's 
Town  of  Dairy,  leaving  it  stretching  away  up 
the  braeface  on  my  right  hand.  A  little  way 
beyond  the  kirk  I  struck  into  the  fringing 
woods  of  Earlstoun  which,  like  an  army  of  train- 
bands in  Lincoln  green,  beset  the  grey  tower. 

I  was  on  the  walk  along  which  I  had  once 
before  come  with  her.  The  water  alternately 
gloomed  and  sparkled  beneath.  The  fish  sulked 
and  waved  lazv  tails,  anchored  in  the  water- 
swirls  below  the  falls,  their  heads  steady  to  the 
stream  as  the  needle  to  the  pole. 

The  green  of  summer  was  yet  untouched  by 
autumn  frosts,  save  for  a  russet  hair  or  two  on 
the  outmost  plumes  of  the  birks  that  wept 
above  the  stream. 

Suddenly  something  gay   glanced   through 

the  wavering  sunsprays  of  the  woodland  and 

the   green   scatter   of   the   shadows.     A   white 

293 


294 


THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 


summer  gown,  a  dainty  hat  white-plumed,  but 
beneath  the  bright  feather  a  bowed  head,  a  girl 
with  tears  in  her  eyes — and  lo!  Mary  Gordon 
standing  alone  and  in  sorrow  by  the  water- 
pools  of  the  Deuch. 

I  had  never  learned  to  do  such  things,  and 
even  now  I  cannot  tell  what  it  was  that  came 
over  me.  For  without  a  moment's  hesitation  I 
kneeled  on  one  knee,  and  taking  her  hand,  I 
kissed  it  with  infinite  love  and  respect. 

She  turned  quickly  from  me,  dashing  the 
tears  from  her  face  with  her  hand. 

'Ouintin!"  she  cried — I  think  before  she 
thought. 

'  Mary!  "  I  said,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life 
saying  the  word  to  my  lady's  face. 

She  held  her  hand  with  the  palm  pressed 
against  my  breast,  pushing  me  from  her  that 
she  might  examine  my  face. 

'Why  are  you  here?"  she  asked  anxious- 
ly, "  you  have  heard  what  they  say  of  my  fa- 
ther? " 

'  I  have  heard,  and  I  come  to  know?  "  I  said 
quietly. 

She  clasped  her  hands  in  front  of  her  breast 
and  then  let  them  fall  loosely  down  in  a  sort  of 
slack  despair. 


LOVE   OR   DUTY.  295 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  she  said,  "  it  is  partly  true. 
But  the  worst  is  not  true!  " 

She  was  silent  for  a  while,  as  if  she  were 
mastering  herself  to  speak. 

Then  she  burst  out  suddenly,  "  But  what 
right  have  you  or  any  other  to  demand  such 
things  of  me?  Is  not  my  father  Sir  Alexander 
Gordon  of  Earlstoun,  and  who  has  name  or 
fame  like  him  in  all  Scotland?  They  that  ac- 
cuse him  are  but  jealous  of  him — even  you 
would  be  glad  like  the  others  to  see  him  hu- 
miliated— brought  low!  " 

f  You  do  me  wrong,"  said  I,  yet  more  quiet- 
ly; "  you  know  it.  Mary,  I  came  because  I 
have  no  friends  on  earth  like  you  and  Alexander 
Gordon.     And  the  thing  troubled  me." 

'  I  know — I  know,"  she  said,  distractedly. 
"  I  think  it  hath  well-nigh  driven  me  mad,  as 
it  hath  my  poor  father." 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  forehead  and 
pressed  it,  as  if  it  had  been  full  of  a  great  throb- 
bing pain. 

I  wished  I  could  have  held  it  for  her. 

Then  we  moved  side  by  side  a  little  along 

the  path,  both  being  silent.     My  thoughts  were 

with  hers.     I  saw  her  pain;  I  felt  her  pride,  her 

reluctance  to  speak. 
20 


296  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

Presently  we  came  to  a  retired  place  where 
there  was  an  alcove  cut  out  of  the  cliff,  re- 
entrant, filled  with  all  coolness  and  the  stir  of 
leaves. 

Hither,  as  if  moved  by  one  instinct,  we  re- 
paired. Mary  sat  her  down  upon  the  stone 
seat.     I  stood  before  her. 

There  was  a  long  waiting  without  a  word 
spoken,  so  that  a  magpie  came  and  flicked  his 
tail  on  a  branch  near  by  without  seeing  us. 
Then  cocking  his  eye  downward,  he  fled  with 
loud  screams  of  anger  and  protestation. 

'  I  will  tell  you  all!  "  she  said,  suddenly. 

But  all  the  same  it  seemed  as  if  she  could 
not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  begin. 

"  You  know  my  father — root  and-  branch 
you  know  him,"  she  said,  at  last;  "or  else  I 
could  not  tell  you.  He  is  a  man.  He  has  so 
great  a  repute,  so  full  a  record  of  bravery,  that 
none  dares  to  point  the  finger.  Through  all 
Scotland  and  the  Low  Countries  it  is  sufficient 
for  my  father  to  say  '  I  am  Alexander  Gordon 
of  Earlstoun! ' 

"  But  as  I  need  not  tell  you,  a  very  strong 
man  is  a  very  weak  man.  And  so  they  trapped 
him,  William  Boyd,  who  called  himself  his 
friend,  being  the  traitor.     For  my  father  had 


LOVE   OR   DUTY.  2gj 

known  him  in  Holland  and  aided  him  with 
money  and  providing  when  he  studied  as  one 
of  the  lads  of  the  Hill-folk  at  the  University  of 
Groningen. 

'  Now  this  a  man  like  William  Boyd  could 
not  forgive — neither  repay.  But  in  silence  he 
hated  and  bode  his  time.  For,  though  I  am 
but  young,  I  see  that  nothing  breeds  hate  and 
malice  more  readily  than  a  helping  hand  ex- 
tended to  a  bad  man. 

"  So  devising  evil  to  my  father  in  secret,  he 
met  him  at  the  Clachan  of  Saint  John  as  he 
came  home  from  the  market  at  Kirkcudbright, 
where  he  had  been  dining  with  Kenmure  and 
my  Lord  Maxwell.  Quintin,  you  know  how 
it  is  with  my  father  when  he  comes  home  from 
market — he  is  kind,  he  is  generous.  The  world 
is  not  large  enough  to  hold  his  heart.  Wine 
may  be  in,  but  wit  is  not  out. 

'  So  Alexander  Gordon  being  in  this  mood, 
Boyd  and  two  or  three  of  his  creatures  met 
him  in  the  highway. 

"  My  father  had  oftentimes  thwarted  and 
opposed  Boyd.  But  now  his  stomach  was 
warm  and  generous  within  him.  So  he  cried 
to  them,  '  A  fair  good  e'en  to  ye,  gentlemen.' 

'  Whereat   they  glanced  cunningly  at   one 


298 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


another,  hearing  the  thick  stammer  in  my  fa- 
ther's voice. 

"'And  good  e'en  to  you,  Earlstoun!'  they 
answered,  taking  off  their  hats  to  him. 

"  The  courtesy  touched  my  father.  It 
seemed  that  they  wished  to  be  friends,  and 
nothing  touches  a  big  careless  gentleman  like 
Alexander  Gordon  more  than  the  thought  that 
others  desire  to  make  up  a  quarrel  and  he  will 
not. 

]i  So  with  that  he  cried,  '  Let  us  bury  by- 
gones and  be  friends.' 

"  '  Agreed,'  answered  Boyd,  waving  his  hand 
jovially;  'let  us  go  to  the  change-house  and 
toast  the  reconciliation  in  a  tass  of  brandy.' 

"  This  he  said  knowing  that  my  father  was 
on  his  way  from  market." 

"  For  this,"  said  I,  not  thinking  of  my  place 
and  dignity,  "  will  I  reckon  with  William 
Boyd." 

Mary  Gordon  went  on  without  noticing  my 
interruption. 

"  So  though  my  father  told  them  that  he 
could  not  go,  that  his  wife  waited  for  him  by 
the  croft  entrance  and  that  his  daughter  was 
coming  down  the  water-side  to  meet  him,  yet 
upon  their  crying  out  that  he  must  not  be  hen- 


LOVE   OR   DUTY. 


299 


pecked  in  the  matter  of  the  drowning  of  an 
ancient  enmity,  my  father  consented  to  go  with 
them." 

Mary  Gordon  looked  before  her  a  long  time 
without  speaking,  as  though  little  liking  to  tell 
what  followed.  "  They  knew,"  she  said,  "  that 
he  was  to  preside  that  night  at  a  meeting  of 
the  eldership  and  commissioners  of  the  Hill- 
folk.  So  they  brought  him  as  in  the  change- 
house  they  had  made  him  to  the  meeting." 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"  And  this  was  all?  "  I  asked.  For  the  ac- 
cusation which  had  come  to  me  had  been  far 
graver  than  this. 

"  As  I  live  and  must  die,  that  is  all.  The 
other  things  which  they  testify  that  he  did  that 
night  are  but  the  blackness  and  foulness  of  their 
own  hearts." 

"  I  will  go  speak  with  him,"  I  said,  mov- 
ing as  to  pass  on. 

Mary  Gordon  had  been  seated  upon  a  wall 
which  jutted  out  over  the  water.  She  leaped 
to  her  feet  in  an  instant  and  caught  me  by  the 
wrist,  looking  with  an  eager  and  passionate  re- 
gard into  my  eyes. 

"  You  must  not — you  shall  not!  "  she  cried. 
"  My  father  is  not  to  be  spoken  to.     He  is  not 


300 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


himself.  He  has  sworn  that  he  will  answer  no 
man,  speak  to  no  man,  have  dealings  with  no 
man,  till  the  shame  be  staunched  and  his  inno- 
cency  made  to  appear." 

"  But  I  will  bring  him  to  himself,"  I  said, 
"  I  will  reason  with  him,  and  that  most  ten- 
derly." 

'  Nay,"  she  said,  taking  me  eagerly  by  the 
breast  of  my  coat,  "  I  tell  you  he  will  not  listen 
to  a  word." 

"  It  is  my  duty,"  I  answered. 

"  Wherefore?  "  she  cried,  sharply.  "  You 
are  not  his  minister." 

"  No,"  said  I,  "  but  I  am  more.  I  am  both 
his  friend  and  yours." 

'  Do  you  mean  to  reprove  him? "  she 
asked. 

"  It  is  my  duty — in  part,"  said  I,  for  the 
thought  of  mine  office  had  come  upon  me,  and 
I  feared  that  for  this  girl's  sake  I  might  even 
be  ready  ignominiously  to  demit  and  decline 
my  plain  duty. 

"  For  that  wherein  he  has  given  the  un- 
righteous cause  to  speak  reproachfully,  I  will 
reprove  him,"  I  said.  "  For  the  rest,  I  will  aid, 
support,  and  succour  him  in  all  that  one  man 
may  do  to  another.     By  confession  of  his  fault, 


LOVE  OR  DUTY.  301 

such  as  it  has  been,  he  may  yet  keep  the  Cause 
from  being  spoken  against." 

"  Ah,  you  do  not  know  my  father,  to  speak 
thus  of  him,"  Mary  Gordon  cried,  clasping  her 
hands.  "  When  he  is  in  his  fury  he  cares  for 
neither  man  nor  beast.  He  might  do  you  a 
hurt,  even  to  the  touching  of  your  life.  Ah, 
do  not  go  to  him."  (Here  she  clasped  her 
hands,  and  looked  at  me  with  such  sweet,  peti- 
tionary graciousness  that  my  heart  became  as 
wax  within  me.)  "  Let  him  come  to  himself. 
What  are  reproof  and  hard  words,  besides  the 
shame  that  comes  when  such  a  man  as  my  fa- 
ther sits  face  to  face  with  the  sins  of  his  own 
heart?" 

Almost  I  had  given  way,  but  the  thought 
of  the  dread  excommunication,  and  the  danger 
which  his  children  must  also  incur,  compelled 
me. 

"  Hear  me,  Mary,"  I  said,  "  I  must  speak  to 
him.  For  all  our  sakes — yours  as  well — I  must 
go  instantly  to  Alexander  Gordon." 

She  waved  her  hand  impatiently. 

"  Do  not  go,"  she  said.  "  Can  you  not  trust 
me?  I  thought  you — you  once  told  me  that 
you  loved  me.  And  if  you  had  loved  me,  I  do 
not  know,  I  might " 


302  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

She  paused.  A  wild  hope — warm,  tender, 
gloriously  insurgent,  rose-coloured — welled  up 
triumphantly  in  my  heart.  My  blood  hummed 
in  my  ears. 

"  She  would  love  me;  she  would  give  herself 
to  me.  I  cannot  offend  her.  This  alone  is  my 
happiness.  This  only  is  life.  What  matters 
all  else?" 

And  I  was  about  to  give  way.  If  I  had  so 
much  as  looked  in  her  face,  or  met  her  eyes,  I 
must  have  fallen  from  my  intent. 

But  I  called  to  mind  the  path  by  which  I 
had  been  led,  the  oath  that  had  been  laid  upon 
me  to  speak  faithfully.  The  lonely  way  of  a 
man — a  sinful  man  trying  to  do  the  right — 
gripped  me  like  a  vice,  and  compelled  me 
against  my  will. 

'  Mary,"  I  said,  solemnly,  "  I  love  you  more 
than  life — more,  perchance,  than  I  love  God. 
But  I  cannot  lay  aside,  nor  yet  shut  out  the 
doing  of  my  duty." 

She  thrust  her  hand  out  suddenly,  passion- 
ately, from  her,  as  if  casting  me  out  of  her  sight 
for  ever.     She  set  her  kerchief  to  her  eyes. 

"You  have  chosen!"  she  cried.  "Go, 
then!" 

'  Mary,"  I  said,  turning  to  follow  her. 


LOVE   OR   DUTY.  303 

All  suddenly  she  turned  upon  me  and 
stamped  her  foot. 

"  I  dare  you  to  speak  with  me!  "  she  cried, 
her  eyes  flashing  with  anger.  "  I  thought  you 
were  a  man,  and  you  are  no  better  than  a  ma- 
chine. You  love!  You  know  not  the  ABC 
of  it.  You  have  never  passed  the  hornbook. 
I  doubt  not  that  you  broke  that  poor  lassie's 
heart  down  there  in  the  farm  by  the  water-side. 
She  loved  a  stone  and  she  died.  Now  you  tell 
me  that  you  love  me,  and  the  first  thing  I  ask 
of  you  you  refuse,  though  it  is  for  my  own  fa- 
ther, and  I  entreat  you  with  tears! ': 

"  Mary,"  I  began  to  say  quietly,  "  you  do 
me  great  wrong.     Let  me  tell  you " 

But  she  turned  away  down  the  path.  I  fol- 
lowed after,  and  at  the  parting  of  the  ways  to 
house  and  stable  she  turned  on  me  again  like 
a  lioness.  "  Oh,  go,  I  tell  you!  Go!  "  she  cried. 
"Do  your  precious  duty.  But  from  this  day 
forth  never,  never  dare  to  utter  word  to  Mary 
Gordon  again!  " 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE    DEMONIAC    IN    THE    GARRET. 

As  all  may  understand,  it  was  with  bowed 
head  and  crushed  heart  that  I  bent  my  steps 
towards  the  grey  tower,  sitting  so  stilly  among 
the  leafage  of  the  wood  above  the  water. 

Duty  is  doubtless  noble,  and  virtue  its  own 
reward.  But  when  there  is  a  lass  in  the  case — 
why,  it  is  somewhat  harder  to  go  against 
her  will  than  to  counter  all  the  law  and  the 
prophets. 

I  went  up  the  bank  towards  the  tower  of 
Earlstoun,  and  as  I  came  near  methought  there 
was  a  strange  and  impressive  silence  over  every- 
thing— like  a  Sabbath-day  that  was  yet  no  com- 
mon or  canny  Sabbath. 

At  the  angle  of  the  outer  wall  one  Hugh 
Halliday,  an  old  servant  of  the  Gordons,  came 
running  toward  me. 

'  Minister,  minister,"  he  cried,  "  ye  mauna 

come  here.     The  maister  has  gotten  the  posses- 
304 


THE   DEMONIAC   IN    THE   GARRET. 


305 


sion  by  evil  spirits.  He  swears  that  if  ever  a 
minister  come  near  him  he  will  brain  him,  and 
he  has  taken  his  sword  and  pistols  up  into  the 
garret  under  the  roof,  and  he  cries  out  con- 
stantly that  if  any  man  stirs  him,  he  shall  surely 
die  the  death." 

"  But,"  I  answered,  "  he  will  not  kill  me, 
who  have  had  no  hand  in  the  matter — me  who 
have  also  been  persecuted  by  the  Presbytery 
and  by  them  deposed." 

"  Ah,  laddie,"  said  the  old  man,  shaking  his 
palsied  hand  warningly  at  me,  "  ye  little  ken 
the  laird,  if  ye  think  that  when  the  power  o' 
evil  comes  ower  him,  he  bides  to  think.  He 
lets  drive  richt  and  left,  and  a'  that  remains 
to  be  done  is  but  to  sinder  the  dead  frae  the 
leevin,  or  to  gather  up  the  fragments  that  re- 
main in  baskets  and  corn-bags  and  sic-like. 

"  For  instance,  in  the  auld  persecutin'  days 
there  was  Gleg  Toshie,  the  carrier,  that  was 
counted  a  great  man  o'  his  hands,  and  at  the 
Carlin's  Cairn  Sandy — the  laird  I  mean — cam' 
on  Toshie  spyin'  on  him,  or  so  he  thocht.  And 
oor  Maister  near  ended  him  when  he  laid  hand 
on  him. 

'  Haud  aff,'  cried  Peter  Pearson  the  cu- 
rate, '  Wad  ye  kill  the  man,  Earlstoun?  ' 


306  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

'  I  would  kill  him  and  eat  him  too! '  cries 
the  laird,  as  he  gied  him  aye  the  ither  drive  wi' 
his  neive.  O  he's  far  frae  canny  when  he's 
raised." 

"Nevertheless  I  will  see  him,"  said  I;  "  I 
have  a  message  to  deliver." 

'  Then  I  hope  and  trust  ye  hae  made  your 
peace  wi'  your  Maker,  for  ye  will  come  doon 
frae  that  laft  a  dead  stiff  corp  and  that  ye'll 
leeve  to  see." 

By  the  gate  the  Lady  of  Earlstoun  was 
walking  to  and  fro,  wringing  her  hands  and 
praying  aloud. 

'  Wrath,  wrath,  and  dismay  hath  fallen  on 
this  house!'  she  cried.  'The  five  vials  are 
poured  out.  And  there  yet  remains  the  sixth 
vial.  O  Sandy,  my  ain  man,  that  it  should 
come  to  this!  That  ye  should  tak'  the  roofs 
like  a  pelican  in  the  desert  and  six  charges  o' 
pooder  in  yon  flask,  forbye  swords  and  pis- 
tols. And  then  the  swearin' — nae  minced 
oaths,  but  as  braid  as  the  back  o'  Cairnsmuir. 
Waes  me  for  Sandy,  the  man  o'  my  choice! 
A  carnal  man  was  Sandy  a'  the  days  o'  him, 
a  man  no  to  be  ruled  nor  yet  spoken  to,  but 
rather  like  a  lion  to  be  withstood  face  to  face. 
But   then   a  little   while   and   his  spirit   would 


THE   DEMONIAC   IN   THE   GARRET.  307 

come    to    him    like     the    spirit    of    a    little 
child." 

We  could  hear  as  we  walked  and  communed 
a  erowline  somewhere  far  above  like  the  baffled 

o  o 

raging  of  a  caged  wild  beast. 

"  It  is  the  spirit  of  the  demoniac  that  is 
come  to  rend  him,"  she  said.  "  Hear  to  him, 
there  he  is;  he  is  hard  at  it,  cursing  the  Pres- 
bytery and  a'  ministers.  He  is  sorest  upon 
them  that  he  has  liked  best,  as,  indeed,  the 
possessed  ever  are.  He  says  that  he  knows  not 
why  he  is  restrained  from  braining  me — me  that 
have  been  his  wife  these  many  sorrowful  years. 
But  thus  far  he  hath  been  kept  from  doing  any 
great  injury.  Even  the  servant  man  that 
brought  the  message  from  his  master,  William 
Boyd,  summoning  Alexander  to  appear  before 
the  Presbytery,  he  cast  by  main  force  into  the 
well,  and  if  the  man  had  not  caught  at  the 
rope,  and  so  gone  more  slowly  to  the  bottom, 
he  would  surely  have  been  dashed  to  pieces." 

"  But  how  long  has  he  been  thus?  "  I  said. 
For  as  we  listened,  quaking,  the  noise  waxed 
and  grew  louder.  Then  anon  it  would  diminish 
almost  like  the  howling  or  whimpering  of  a 
beaten  dog,  most  horrid  and  uncanny  to  hear. 

"  Ever  since  yesterday  at  the  hour  when  he 


308  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

gat  the  summons  from  the  Presbytery,"  said 
the  lady  of  Earlstoun. 

"  And  have  none  been  near  him  since  that 
time?" 

"Only  Mary,"  she  said;  "she  took  up  to 
him  a  bowl  of  broth.  For  he  never  lifted  his 
hand  to  her  in  his  life.  He  bade  her  begone 
quickly,  because  he  was  no  fit  company  for  hu- 
man kind  any  more.  She  asked  him  very  gen- 
tly to  come  to  his  own  chamber  and  lie  down 
in  peace.  But  he  cried  out  that  the  ministers 
were  coming,  and  that  she  must  not  stand  in 
the  way.  For  he  was  about  to  shoot  them  all 
dead,  like  the  black  hoodie-craws  that  pyke  the 
young  lambs'  e'en! 

'And  a  bonny  bit  lamb  ye  are,  faither,'  said 
Mary,  trying  to  jest  with  him  to  divert  his 
mind;  'a  bonny  lamb,  indeed,  with  that  great 
muckle  heather  besom  of  a  beard.' 

"  But  instead  of  laughing,  as  was  his  wont, 
he  cursed  her  for  an  impudent  wench,  and  told 
her  to  begone,  that  she  was  no  daughter  of  his." 

"  Has  he  been  oftentimes  taken  with  this 
seizure?  "  I  asked. 

"  It  has  come  to  him  once  or  twice  since  he 
was  threatened  with  torture  before  the  lords 
of  the  Privy  Council,  and  brake  out  upon  them 


THE   DEMONIAC   IN   THE   GARRET.  309 

all  as  has  often  been  told — but  never  before  like 
this." 

"  I  will  go  to  him,"  I  said,  "  and  adjure  him 
to  return  to  himself.  And  I  will  exorcise  the 
demon,  if  power  be  granted  me  of  the  Lord." 

"I  pray  you  do  not!"  she  cried,  catching 
me  and  looking  at  me  even  more  earnestly  than 
her  daughter  had  done,  though,  perhaps,  some- 
what less  movingly.  "  Let  not  your  blood  also 
be  upon  this  doomed  house  of  Earlstoun." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE    CURSING    OF   THE    PRESBYTERY. 

As  gently  as  I  could  I  withdrew  from  her 
grasp,  and  with  a  pocket  Bible  in  my  hand  (that 
little  one  in  red  leather  of  the  King's  printers 
which  I  always  carried  about  with  me),  I 
climbed  the  stair. 

The  word  I  had  come  so  far  to  speak  should 
not  remain  unspoken  through  my  weakness, 
neither  must  I  allow  truth  to  be  brought  to 
shame  because  of  the  fears  of  the  messenger. 

So  I  mounted  the  turret  stairs  slowly,  the 
great  voice  sounding  out  more  and  more  clearly 
as  I  advanced.  It  came  in  soughs  and  bursts, 
alternating  with  lown  intervals  filled  with  indis- 
tinct mutterings.  Then  again  a  great  volley 
of  cursing  would  shake  the  house,  and  in  the 
afterclap  of  silence  I  could  hear  the  waesome 
yammer  of  my  lady's  supplication  beneath  me 
outside  the  tower. 

But    within,    save    for    the    raging    of    the 
310 


THE   CURSING   OF   THE    PRESBYTERY. 


311 


stormy  voice,  there  was  an  uncanny  silence. 
The  dust  lay  thick  where  it  had  been  left  un- 
touched for  days  by  any  hand  of  domestic. 
I  glanced  within  the  great  oaken  chamber 
where  formerly  I  had  spoken  to  Mary  Gordon. 
It  was  void  and  empty.  A  broken  glass  of 
carven  Venetian  workmanship  and  various  col- 
ours lay  in  fragments  by  the  window.  A  stone 
jar  with  the  great  bung  of  Spanish  cork  stood 
on  the  floor.  There  was  a  crimson  sop  of 
spilled  wine  on  the  table  of  white  scoured  wood. 
The  table-cloth  of  rich  Spanish  stuff  wrought 
with  arabesques  had  been  tossed  into  the  cor- 
ner. A  window  was  broken,  and  there  were 
stains  on  the  jagged  edges,  as  if  some  one  had 
thrust  his  hand  through  the  glass  to  his  own 
hurt. 

Nothing  moved  in  the  room,  but  in  the 
thwart  sunbeams  the  motes  danced,  and  the 
unstable  shadows  of  the  trees  without  flecked 
the  floor. 

All  the  more  because  of  this  unwholesome 
quiet  in  the  great  house  of  Earlstoun,  it  was 
very  dismaying  to  listen  to  the  roll  and  thun- 
der of  the  voice  up  there,  speaking  on  and  on 
to  itself  in  the  regions  above. 

But  I  had  come  at  much  cost  to  do  my  duty, 


21 


312 


THE    STANDARD   BEARER. 


and  this  I  could  not  depart  from.  So  I  began 
to  mount  the  last  stairs,  which  were  of  wood, 
and  exceedingly  narrow  and  precipitous. 

Then  for  the  first  time  I  could  hear  clearly 
the  words  of  the  possessed: 

"  Cast  into  deepest  hell,  Lord,  if  any  power 
is  left  in  Thee,  the  whole  Presbytery  of  Kirk- 
cudbright! Set  thy  dogs  upon  them,  O  Satan, 
Prince  of  Evil,  for  they  have  worked  ill-will 
and  mischief  upon  earth.  Specially  and  par- 
ticularly gie  Andrew  Cameron  his  paiks!  Rub 
the  fiery  brimstone  flame  onto  his  bones,  like 
salt  into  a  new-killed  swine.  Scowder  him 
with  irons  heated  white  hot.  Tear  his  inward 
parts  with  twice-barbed  fishing  hooks.  Gie 
William  Boyd  his  bellyful  of  curses.  Turn  him 
as  often  on  thy  roasting-spit  as  he  has  turned 
his  coat  on  the  earth.  Frighten  wee  Telfair  wi' 
the  uncanniest  o'  a'  thy  deils'  imps.  And  as  for 
the  rest  of  them  may  they  burn  back  and  front, 
ingate  and  outgate,  hide,  hair,  and  harrigals, 
till  there  is  nocht  left  o'  them  but  a  wee  pluff 
o'  ash,  that  I  could  hold  like  snuff  between  my 
fingers  and  thumb  and  blaw  away  like  the  white 
head  o'  the  dandelion." 

He  came  to  an  end  for  lack  of  breath,  and 
I  could  hear  him  stir  restlessly,  thinking,  per- 


THE   CURSING   OF   THE    PRESBYTERY.       313 

haps,  that  he  had  omitted  some  of  the  Presby- 
tery who  were  needful  of  a  yet  fuller  and  more 
decorated  cursing. 

I  called  up  to  him. 

"  Alexander  Gordon,  I  have  come  to  speak 
with  you." 

"  Who  are  you  that  dares  giff-gaff  with  Al- 
exander Gordon  this  day?  " 

"  I  am  Quintin  MacClellan,  minister  of  the 
Gospel  in  Balmaghie,  a  friend  to  Alexander 
Gordon  and  all  his  house." 

"  Get  you  gone,  Quintin  MacClellan,  while 
ye  may.  I  have  no  desire  for  fellowship  with 
you.  You  are  also  of  the  crew  of  hell — the 
black  corbies  that  cry  '  Glonk!  Glonk! '  over  the 
carcase  of  puir  perishing  Scotland." 

"  Hearken,  Alexander  Gordon,"  said  I,  from 
the  ladder's  foot,  "  I  have  been  your  friend.  I 
have  sat  at  your  table.  A  word  is  given  me  to 
speak  to  you,  and  speak  it  I  will." 

"  And  I  also  have  a  gun  here  that  has  a 
message  rammed  down  its  thrapple.  I  warn 
ye  clear  and  fair,  if  ye  trouble  me  at  all  with 
any  of  your  clavers,  ye  shall  get  that  message 
frae  the  black  jaws  of  Bell-mouthed  Mirren." 

And  as  I  looked  up  the  wooden  ladder  which 
led  into  the  dim  garret  above  me,  I  saw  peeping 


2i4  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

through  the  angle  of  the  square  trap-door  above 
me  the  wicked  snout  of  the  musket — while  be- 
hind, narrowed  to  a  slit,  glinted,  through  a  red 
mist  of  beard  and  hair,  the  eye  of  Sandy  Gor- 
don. 

"  Ye  may  shoot  me  if  ye  will,  Alexander," 
said  I;  "  I  am  a  man  unarmed,  defenceless,  and 
so  stand  fully  within  your  danger.  But  listen 
first  to  that  which  I  have  to  say. 

"  You  are  a  great  man,  laird  of  Earlstoun. 
Ye  have  come  through  much  and  seen  many 
peoples  and  heard  many  tongues.  Ye  have 
been  harried  by  the  Malignants,  prisoned  by  the 
King's  men,  and  now  the  Presbytery  have  taken 
a  turn  at  you,  even  as  they  did  at  me,  and  for 
the  same  reason. 

"  You  were  ever  my  friend,  Earlstoun,  and 
William  Boyd  mine  enemy.  Therefore  he  was 
glad  to  take  up  a  lying  report  against  you  that 
are  my  comrade;  for  such  is  his  nature.  Can 
the  sow  help  her  foulness,  the  crow  his  colour? 
Forbye,  ye  have  given  some  room  to  the  enemy 
to  speak  reproachfully.  You,  an  elder  of  the 
Hill-folk,  have  collogued  in  the  place  of  drink- 
ing with  the  enemies  of  our  cause.  They  laid 
a  snare  for  your  feet,  and  like  a  simple  fool  ye 
fell  therein.     So  much  I  know.     But  the  darker 


THE   CURSING   OF   THE    PRESBYTERY. 


315 


sin  that  they  witness  against  you — what  say 
ye  to  that?" 

'  It  is  false  as  the  lies  that  are  spewed  up 
from  the  vent  of  Hell!  "  cried  the  voice  from 
the  trap-door  above,  now  hoarse  and  trembling. 
I  had  touched  him  to  the  quick. 

'  Who  are  they  that  witness  this  thing 
against  you?  " 

He  was  silent  for  a  little,  and  then  he  burst 
out  upon  me  afresh. 

"  Who  are  you  that  have  entered  into  mine 
own  house  of  Earlstoun  to  threat  and  catechise 
me?  Is  Alexander  Gordon  a  bairn  to  be  har- 
ried by  bairns  that  were  kicking  in  swaddling 
clouts  and  buttock-hippens  when  he  was  at  the 
head  of  the  Seven  Thousand?  And  who  may 
you  be?  A  deposed  minister,  a  college  jack- 
daw whom  the  other  daws  have  warned  from 
off  the  steeple.  I  will  not  kill  you,  Ouintin 
MacClellan,  but  I  bid  you  instantly  evade  and 
depart,  for  the  spirit  has  bidden  me  fire  a  shot 
at  the  place  where  ye  stand!  " 

'  Ye  may  fire  your  piece  and  slay  your  friend 
on  the  threshold  of  your  house,  an'  it  please  you, 
laird  of  Earlstoun,"  cried  I,  "  but  ye  shall  never 
say  that  he  was  a  man  unfaithful,  a  man  afraid 
of  the  face  of  men!  " 


316  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

"  Stand  from  under,  I  say!  " 

Nevertheless  I  did  not  move,  for  there  had 
grown  up  a  stubbornness  within  me  as  there 
had  done  when  the  Presbytery  set  themselves 
to  vex  me. 

Then  there  befell  what  seemed  to  be  a 
mighty  clap  of  thunder.  A  blast  of  windy  heat 
spat  in  my  face;  something  tore  at  the  roots 
of  my  hair;  fire  singed  my  brow,  and  the  reek 
of  sulphur  rose  stifling  in  my  nostrils. 

The  demon-possessed  had  fired  upon  me. 
For  a  moment  I  knew  not  whether  I  was 
stricken  or  no,  for  there  grew  a  pain  hot  as 
fire  at  my  head.  But  I  stood  where  I  was  till 
in  a  little  the  smoke  began  to  lazily  clear 
through  the  trap-door  into  the  garret. 

I  put  my  hand  to  my  head  and  felt  that  my 
brow  was  wet  and  gluey.  Then  I  thought  that 
I  was  surely  sped,  for  I  knew  that  men  stricken 
in  the  brain  by  musket  shot  ofttimes  for  a  mo- 
ment scarce  feel  their  wound.  I  understood  not 
till  later  the  reason  of  my  escape,  which  was 
that  the  balls  of  Earlstoun's  fusil  had  no  time 
to  spread,  but  passed  as  one  through  my  thick 
hair,  snatching  at  it  and  tearing  the  scalp  as 
they  passed. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

LIKE    THE  "SPIRIT    OF   A    LITTLE    CHILD. 

The  smoke  of  the  gun  curled  slowly  and 
reluctantly  out  of  the  narrow  windows,  and 
through  the  garret  opening  I  heard  a  hurried 
rush  of  feet  beneath  me  on  the  stairs,  light  and 
quick — a  woman's  footsteps  when  she  is  young. 
My  head  span  round,  and  had  it  not  been  for 
Mary  Gordon,  whose  arm  caught  and  steadied 
me,  I  should  doubtless  have  fallen  from  top  to 
bottom. 

"  Quintin,  Ouintin,"  she  cried,  passionately, 
"are  you  hurt?  Oh,  my  father  has  slain  him. 
Wherefore  did  I  let  him  go?  " 

I  held  by  the  wall  and  steadied  myself  on 
her  shoulder,  scarce  knowing  what  I  did. 

Suddenly  she  cried  aloud,  a  little  frightened 

cry,  and,  drawing  her  kerchief  from  her  bosom, 

she  reached  up  and  wiped  my  brow,  down  which 

red  drops  were  trickling. 

317 


318  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

'You  are  hurt!  You  are  sort  hurt!"  she 
cried.     "  And  it  is  all  my  fault!  " 

Then  I  said,  "  Nay,  Mary,  I  am  not  hurt. 
It  was  but  a  faintish  turn  that  came  and 
passed." 

'  Oh,  come  away,"  she  cried;  "  he  will  sure- 
ly slay  you  if  you  bide  here,  and  your  blood  will 
be  upon  my  hands." 

'  Nay,  Mary,"  I  answered;  "  the  demon,  and 
not  your  father,  did  this  thing,  and  such  can 
do  nothing  without  permission.  I  will  yet 
meet  and  expel  the  devil  in  the  name  of  the 
Lord!" 

She  put  her  netted  fingers  about  my  arm  to 
draw  me  away;  nevertheless,  even  then,  I  with- 
stood her. 

"  Alexander  Gordon,"  I  cried  aloud,  "  the 
evil  spirit  hath  done  its  worst.  He  will  now 
depart  from  you.  I  am  coming  up  the  lad- 
der." 

I  drew  my  arm  free  and  mounted.  As  my 
head  rose  through  the  trap-door  I  own  that 
my  heart  quaked,  but  there  had  come  with  the 
danger  and  the  excitement  a  sort  of  angry  ex- 
altation which,  more  than  aught  else,  carried 
me  onward.  Also  I  knew  within  me  that  if, 
as  I  judged,  God  had  other  work  yet  for  me  to 


LIKE    THE    SPIRIT    OF   A   LITTLE   CHILD.   319 

do  in  Scotland,  He  would  clothe  me  in  secret 
armour  of  proof  against  all  assault. 

Also  the  eyes  of  Mary  Gordon  were  upon 
me.  I  had  passed  my  word  to  her;  I  could  not 
go  back. 

As  I  looked  about  the  garret  between  the 
cobwebs,  the  strings  of  onions,  and  the  bunches 
of  dried  herbs,  I  could  see  Sandy  Gordon 
crouching  at  the  far  end,  all  drawn  together 
like  a  tailor  sitting  cross-legged  on  his  bench. 
He  had  his  musket  between  his  knees,  and  his 
great  sword  was  cocked  threateningly  over  his 
shoulder. 

"What,  Corbie!  Are  ye  there  again? ': 
cried  he,  fleeringly.  "  Then  ye  are  neither  dead 
nor  feared." 

"  No,"  said  I;  "  the  devil  that  possesses  you 
has  been  restrained  from  doing  me  serious  hurt. 
I  will  call  on  the  Lord  to  expel  what  He  hath 
already  rendered  powerless." 

"  Man,  Quintin,"  he  cried,  "  ye  should  have 
fetched  Telfair  and  the  Presbytery  with  you. 
Ye  are  not  fit  for  the  job  by  yourself.  Mind 
you,  this  is  no  hotchin'  wee  de'il,  sitting  cross- 
legged  on  the  hearth  in  the  gloaming  like  An- 
drew Mackie's  in  Ringcroft.  It  takes  the  black 
Father  of  Spirits  himself,  ripe  from  hell,  to  grip 


320  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

the  Bull  of  Earlstoun,  and  set  him  to  roaring 
like  this  in  the  blank  middle  of  the  day." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "  there  is  One  stronger  than 
any  devil  or  devilkin — your  father's  and  your 
mother's  God!  You  are  but  a  great  bairn, 
Sandy.  Do  ye  mind  where  ye  first  learned  the 
Lord's  Prayer  and  the  Twenty-third  Psalm?  ': 

At  my  words  the  great  mountain  of  a  man 
threw  his  head  back  and  dropped  his  sword. 

"  Aye,  I  mind,"  he  said,  sullenly. 

"  Where  was  it?  "  said  I. 

"  It  was  at  my  mother's  knee  in  the  turret 
chamber  that  looks  to  the  woods,  if  ye  want 
to  ken." 

"  What  did  your  mother  when  ye  had  ended 

the  lesson?  " 

"  What  is  that  to  you,  Quintin  MacClel- 
lan?  "  he  thundered,  fiercely.  "  I  tell  you,  tor- 
ment me  not!  " 

He  snarled  this  out  at  me  suddenly  like  the 
roar  of  a  beast  in  a  cage,  thrusting  forth  his 
head  at  me  and  showing  his  teeth  in  the  midst 
of  his  red  beard. 

"  What  did  your  mother  when  ye  had 
learned  your  psalm?  " 

"  She  put  her  hands  upon  my  head." 

"  And  then  what  did  she?  " 


LIKE    THE   SPIRIT   OF   A   LITTLE   CHILD.   321 

"  She  prayed." 

"  Do  ye  mind  the  words  of  that  prayer?  ': 

"  I  mind  them." 

"  Then  say  them." 

"I  will  not!"  he  shouted  loud  and  fierce, 
clattering  his  gun  on  the  floor  and  leaping  to 
his  feet.  His  sword  was  in  his  hand,  and  he 
pointed  it  threateningly  at  me. 

"  You  will  not  say  your  mother's  prayer," 
I  answered;  "  then  I  will  say  it  for  you." 

"  No,  you  shall  not,  Quintin  MacClellan," 
he  growled.  "  If  it  comes  to  that,  I  will  say 
it  myself.  What  ken  you  about  my  mother's 
prayer?  " 

"  I  have  a  mother  of  mine  own,  and  not  once 
nor  twice  she  hath  said  a  prayer  for  me." 

The  point  of  the  sword  dropped.  He  stood 
silent. 

"  Her  hands  were  on  your  head,"  I  sug- 
gested, "  you  had  finished  your  prayers.  It 
was  in  the  turret  chamber  that  looks  to  the 
north." 

"  I  ken — I  ken!  "  he  cried,  turning  his  head 
this  way  and  that  like  a  beast  tied  and  tor- 
mented. 

But  in  his  eyes  there  grew  a  far-away  look. 
The  convulsive  fingers  loosened  on  the  sword- 


322 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


hilt.  The  blade  fell  unheeded  to  the  ground 
and  lay  beside  the  empty  musket. 

"O  Lord!'  he  gasped,  hardly  above  his 
breath,  '  from  all  the  dangers  of  this  night 
keep  my  laddie.  From  powers  of  evil  guard 
him  with  thy  good  angels.  The  Lord  Christ 
be  his  yoke-bearer.  Deliver  him  from  sin  and 
from  himself.  When  I  am  under  green  kirk- 
yard  sward,  be  Thou  to  him  both  father  and 
mother.  O  God,  Father  in  Heaven,  bless  the 
lad!" 

It  was  his  mother's  prayer. 

And  as  the  words  came  softer  Alexander 
Gordon  fell  on  his  knees,  and  moaned  aloud  in 
the  dim  smoky  garret. 

Then,  judging  that  my  work  was  done,  I, 
too,  kneeled  on  my  knees,  and  for  the  space  of 
an  hour  or  thereby  the  wind  of  the  summer 
blew  through  the  chamber,  the  shadows  crawled 
up  the  walls,  and  Alexander  Gordon  moved 
not  nor  spoke. 

Then  I  arose,  took  him  by  the  hand,  and 
bade  him  follow  me.  We  went  down  both  of 
us  together.  And  in  the  room  below  we  found 
Mary,  who  had  sat  listening  with  her  head  on 
her  hand. 

"  Here  is  your  father,"  I  said;  "  take  him  to 


LIKE   THE   SPIRIT    OF   A    LITTLE   CHILD.   323 

his  chamber,  and  when  he  is  ready  bring  him 
again  into  the  great  room." 

So  very  obediently  he  went  with  her  as  a 
little  child  might. 

Presently  she  brought  him  in  again,  clean 
washed  and  with  the  black  look  gone  from  his 
brow. 

I  bade  her  set  him  by  the  window.  She 
looked  at  me  to  see  if  she  should  leave  us  alone. 
But  I  desired  her  to  stay. 

Then  very  gently  I  set  the  right  way  before 
him. 

"  Alexander,"  said  I,  "  ye  have  done  that 
which  has  worked  great  scandal.  Ye  shall  con- 
fess that  publicly.  Ye  are  innocent  of  the 
greater  iniquity  laid  to  your  charge.  Ye  shall 
clear  yourself  of  that  by  a  solemn  oath  taken 
both  in  the  presence  of  God  and  before  men." 

"  That  I  cannot,"  said  he,  speaking  for  the 
first  time;  "  the  Presbytery  have  refused  me  the 
privilege." 

"  There  is  a  door  open  for  you,"  I  said,  "  in 
a  place  where  the  Presbytery  and  your  enemies 
have  no  power.  It  may  not  be  long  mine  to 
offer  you.  But  for  one  day  it  shall  be  yours, 
and  after  the  service  on  Sabbath  in  the  Kirk 
of  Balmaghie  ye  shall  stand  up  and  clear  your- 


324  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

self  by  oath  of  the  greater  sin — after  having 
made  confession  of  the  more  venial  fault." 

"  I  will  do  it!  "  he  said,  and  put  his  hand  in 
mine. 

So  I  left  him  sitting  there  with  his  daugh- 
ter, with  the  knowledge  that  my  soul  had  power 
over  his.  And  in  the  eventide,  greatly  com- 
forted, I  took  my  way  homewards,  knowing 
that  he  would  not  fail  me. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE    STONE    OF    STUMBLING. 

But  whilst  I  had  been  going  about  my  work 
the  enemies  had  not  been  idle.  They  had  de- 
posed me  from  the  ministry.  They  could  not 
depose  me  from  the  hearts  of  a  willing  and  loyal 
people.  They  had  invoked  the  secular  arm,  and 
that  had  been  turned  back. 

Now,  by  hasty  process,  they  had  also  ap- 
pointed one,  McKie,  to  succeed  me — a  young 
man  that  had  been  a  helper  to  one  of  them, 
harmless  enough,  indeed,  in  himself,  a  good  and 
quiet  lad.  Him,  for  the  sake  of  the  stipend, 
they  had  persuaded  to  be  their  cat's-paw. 

But  the  folk  of  Balmaghie  were  clear  against 
giving  him  any  foothold,  so  that  he  made  little 
more  of  it  than  he  had  done  at  first. 

But  it  chanced  that  on  the  day  on  which  I 
had  gone  to  Earlstoun  to  speak  with  Alexander 
Gordon,  the  more  active  of  the  Presbytery  had 

gathered  together  many  of  the  wild  and  riotous 

325 


326 


THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 


out  of  their  parishes,  and  had  sent  them  to  take 
possession  of  the  manse  and  glebe  of  Balmaghie. 

Hob,  my  brother,  was  over  by  at  the  house 
of  Drumglass,  helping  them  with  the  last 
of  their  meadow  hay,  being  a  lad  ever  kind 
and  helpful  to  all,  saying  little  but  doing 
much. 

So  that  the  house,  being  left  defenceless  in 
fancied  security,  the  young  lad  McKie  and  his 
party  had  been  in  and  about  the  manse  for  a 
full  hour  before  any  brought  word  of  their  ap- 
proach. 

McKie,  acting  doubtless  under  the  advice  of 
those  that  were  more  cunning  than  he,  had  in- 
truded into  the  kitchen,  extinguished  the  fire 
on  the  hearth  and  relighted  it  in  his  own  name. 

Also  the  folk  who  were  with  him,  men  from 
other  parishes,  wholly  ignorant  of  the  matter, 
had  brought  a  pair  of  ploughs  with  them.  To 
these  they  now  harnessed  horses  and  would 
have  set  to  the  ploughing  up  of  the  glebe,  which 
was  of  ancient  pasture,  the  grass  clean  and  old, 
a  paradise  of  verdure,  smooth  as  a  well-mown 
lawn. 

But  by  this  time  the  noise  and  report  of  the 
invasion  had  spread  abroad,  and  from  farm- 
towns  far  and  near  swarmed  down  the  angry 


THE   STONE   OF   STUMBLING.  327 

folk  of  Balmaghie,  like  bees  from  a  byke  upon 
a  company  of  harrying  boys. 

The  mowers  took  their  scythes  over  their 
shoulders  and  set  off  all  coatless  and  bonnet- 
less  from  the  water-meadows.  The  herds  left 
their  sheep  to  stray  masterless  upon  the  hill, 
and  came  with  nothing  but  their  crooks  in  their 
hands.  The  farmers  hastily  ran  in  for  Brown 
Bess  and  a  horn  of  powder.  So  that  ere  the 
first  furrow  was  turned  from  end  to  end  the 
glebe  was  black  with  people,  swarming  like  an 
angry  hive  whose  defences  have  been  stormed. 

So  the  invaders  could  not  stand,  either  in 
numbers  or  anger,  against  the  honest  folk  who 
had  sworn  to  keep  sacred  the  home  of  the  man 
of  their  choice. 

Even  as  I  came  to  the  entering  in  of  the 

Kirk  loaning,   I   saw   the  ending   of  the   fray. 

The  invaders  were  fleeing  down  the  water-side 

the   poor  lad    McKie,    who   in   his   anger   had 

stricken  a  woman  to  the  ground  and  stamped 

upon  her,  had  a  wound  in  his  hand  made  by  a 

reaping-hook.     The  ploughs  had  been  thrown 

into  the  Dee,  and  the  folk  of  Balmaghie  were 

pursuing  and  beating  stray  fugitives,  like  school 

laddies  threshing  at  a  wasps'  nest. 

Then  I,  who  had  striven  so  lately  with  the 
22 


328  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

powers  of  evil  in  high  places,  was  stricken  to 
the  heart  at  this  unseemly  riot,  and  resolved 
within  me  that  there  should  be  a  quick  end 
to  this. 

Who  was  I  that  I  should  thus  be  a  troubler 
of  Israel,  and  make  the  hot  anger  rise  in  these 
quiet  hearts?  Could  I  stand  against  all  Scot- 
land? Nay,  could  I  alone  be  in  the  right  and 
all  the  others  in  the  wrong?  There  was  surely 
work  for  me  to  do  outside  the  bounds  of  one 
small  parish — at  least,  in  all  broad  Scotland,  a 
few  godly  folk  of  the  ancient  way  to  whom  I 
could  minister. 

So  I  resolved  then  and  there,  that  after  the 
Sabbath  service  at  which  I  had  bidden  Earls- 
toun  to  purge  himself  by  oath  and  public  con- 
fession, I  would  no  longer  remain  in  Balmaghie 
to  stir  up  wrath,  but  depart  over  Jordan  with 
no  more  than  my  pilgrim-staff  in  my  hand. 

So,  when  at  last  the  people  had  vanquished 
the  last  invader  and  come  back  to  the  kirk, 
I  called  them  together  and  spoke  quietly  to 
them. 

"  This  thing,"  said  I,  "  becomes  a  scandal 
and  a  shaming.  This  is  surely  not  the  King- 
dom of  the  Prince  of  Peace.  True,  not  we,  but 
those  who  have  come  against  us,  began  the  fray. 


THE   STONE   OF   STUMBLING. 


329 


But  when  men  stumble  over  a  stone  in  the  path, 
it  is  time  that  the  stone  be  removed. 

"  Now  I,  Quintin  MacClellan,  your  minister, 
am  the  stone  of  stumbling — I,  and  none  other, 
the  rock  of  offence.  I  will  therefore  remove 
myself.     I  will  cease  to  trouble  Israel." 

"  No,  no,"  they  cried;  "  surely  after  this 
they  will  leave  us  alone.  They  will  never  re- 
turn. Bide  with  us,  for  you  are  our  minister, 
and  we  your  faithful  and  willing  folk." 

And  this  saying  of  theirs,  in  which  all  joined, 
moved  me  much;  nevertheless  I  was  fixed  in 
my  heart,  and  could  make  no  more  of  it  than 
that  I  must  depart. 

Which,  when  they  heard,  they  were  grieved 
at  very  sorely,  and  appointed  certain  of  them, 
men  of  weight  and  sincerity,  to  combat  my  reso- 
lution. 

But  it  was  not  to  be,  for  I  made  up  my 
mind. 

I  saw  that  there  might  be  an  open  door 
elsewhere,  and  though  I  would  not  abandon 
my  work  in  Balmaghie,  yet  neither  would  I  any 
more  confine  my  ministrations.  I  would  go 
out  to  the  Hill-folk,  who  before  had  called  me, 
and  if  they  accepted  of  me,  well!  And  if  not — 
why,  there  were  heathen  folk  enough  in  Scot- 


330  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

land  with  none  to  minister  to  them;  and  it 
would  be  strange  if  He  who  sent  out  his  dis- 
ciples two  by  two,  bidding  them  take  neither 
purse  nor  script,  would  not  find  bread  and  water 
for  a  poor  wandering  teacher  throughout  the 
length  and  breadth  of  Scotland. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

FARE   YOU    WELL! 

The  fateful  Sabbath  came — a  day  of  infinite 
stillness,  so  that  from  beside  the  tombs  of  the 
martyr  Hallidays  in  the  kirkyard  of  Balmaghie 
you  could  hear  the  sheep  bleating  on  the  hills 
of  Crossmichael  a  mile  away,  the  sound  break- 
ing mellow  and  thin  upon  the  ear  over  the  still 
and  azure  river. 

To  me  it  was  like  the  calm  of  the  New 
Jerusalem.  And,  indeed,  no  place  that  ever  I 
have  seen  can  be  so  blessedly  quiet  as  the  bon- 
nie  kirk-knowe  of  Balmaghie,  mirrored  on  a 
windless  day  in  the  encircling  stillness  of  the 
Water  of  Dee. 

The  folk  gathered  early,  clouds  upon  clouds 
of  them,  so  that  I  think  every  man,  woman,  and 
child  in  the  parish  must  have  save  the  children 
that  could  not  walk,  and  the  aged  who  dwelt 
too  far  away  to  be  carried. 

Alexander  Gordon   sat   at   my  right   hand, 

immediately  beneath  the  pulpit. 

331 


332 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


There  seemed  an  extraordinary  graciousness 
in  the  singing  that  day,  a  special  fervour  in  the 
upward  swell  of  the  voices,  a  more  excellent, 
sober  sweetness  in  the  Sabbath  air.  And  of 
that  I  must  not  think,  for  I  was  to  leave  all 
this — to  leave  for  ever  the  vale  of  blessing 
wherein  I  had  hoped  to  spend  my  days. 

Yes,  I  would  adventure  forth  alone  rather 
than  that  a  loyal  folk  should  suffer  any  more 
because  of  me.  But  first,  so  far  as  in  me  lay, 
I  would  set  right  the  matter  of  Alexander  Gor- 
don and  his  trouble. 

It  was  the  forty-sixth  Psalm  that  they  were 
singing,  and  as  they  sang  the  people  tell  that 
herds  on  the  hill  stood  still  to  listen  to  the 
chorus  of  that  mighty  singing,  and,  without 
knowing  why,  the  water  stood  in  their  eyes  that 
day.  There  seemed  to  be  something  by-ordi- 
narily  moving  in  all  that  was  done.  Thuswise 
it  went: 

God  is  our  refuge  and  our  strength, 

In  straits  a  present  aid, 
Therefore  although  the  earth  remove, 

We  will  not  be  afraid. 

And  as  she  sang  I  saw  Mary  Gordon  look- 
ing past  me  with  the  glory  of  the  New  Song 
in  her  eyes.  And  I  knew  that  her  heart,  too, 
was  touched. 


FARE   YOU    WELL! 


333 


By  the  pillar  in  the  arched  nook  at  the  door 
stood  Hob  my  brother,  and  by  him  Alexander- 
Jonita.  They  looked  sedately  down  upon  one 
psalm-book.  And  in  that  day  I  was  glad  to 
think  that  one  man  was  happy. 

Poor  lad!  That  which  it  was  laid  upon  me 
to  do  came  as  a  sad  surprise  to  him.  Out  of 
the  window,  as  I  stood  up  to  the  sermon,  I 
could  see  the  river  slowly  take  its  way.  It 
glinted  back  more  blue  and  sparkling  than  ever 
I  had  seen  it,  and  my  heart  gave  a  great  stound 
that  never  more  was  I  to  abide  by  the  side  of 
that  quiet  water,  and  in  the  sheltered  nook 
where  I  had  known  such  strange  providences. 
Once  I  had  thought  it  would  be  gladsome  for 
me  to  leave  it,  but  now,  when  the  time  came, 
I  thought  so  no  more. 

Even  the  little  glimpses  I  had  of  that  fair 
landscape  through  the  narrow  kirk  windows 
brought  back  a  thousand  memories.  Yonder, 
by  the  thorn,  I  had  seen  a  weak  one  made  no- 
bler than  I  by  the  mighty  power  of  love. 

Down  there  beside  the  dark  still  waters  I 
had  watched  the  lights  glimmer  in  the  Kirk  of 
Crossmichael,  where  sat  my  foes,  angry-eager 
to  make  an  end.  But  the  psalm  again  seized 
my  heart  and  held  it. 


334 


THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 


A  river  is,  whose  streams  do  glad 

The  city  of  our  God, 
The  Holy  Place  wherein  the  Lord 

Most  High  hath  His  abode. 

And  in  a  moment  the  Dee  Water  and  its 
memories  of  malice  were  blotted  out.  The  rip- 
ples played  instead  over  the  River  that  flows 
from  about  the  Throne  of  God.  I  saw  all  the 
warrings  of  earth,  the  heart-burnings,  the 
strifes,  the  little  days  and  evil  nights  washed 
away  in  a  broad  flood  of  grace  and  mercy. 

I  was  ready  to  go  I  knew  not  whither.  It 
might  be  that  there  was  a  work  greater  and 
more  enduring  for  me  to  do,  my  pilgrim  staff 
in  my  hand,  among  the  flowe-mosses  and  peaty 
wildernesses  of  the  South-west  than  here  in  the 
well-sheltered  strath  of  Dee. 

Now,  at  all  events,  I  must  face  the  blast, 
the  bluster  and  the  bite  of  it.  But  though 
I  was  to  look  no  more  on  these  well-kenned, 
kindly  faces  as  their  minister,  I  knew  that  their 
hearts  would  hold  by  me,  and  their  lips  breathe 
a  prayer  for  me  each  day  at  eventide. 

And  so  I  bade  them  farewell.  What  I  said 
to  them  is  no  man's  business  but  theirs  and 
mine,  and  shall  not  be  written  here.  But  the 
tears  flowed  down  and  the  voice  of  mourning 
was  heard. 


FARE   YOU   WELL! 


335 


Then,  ere  I  pronounced  the  benediction,  I 
told  them  how  that  one  dear  to  me  and  well 
known  to  them  had  a  certain  matter  to  set  be- 
fore them. 

With  that  uprose  Alexander  Gordon  in  the 
midst,  looming  great  like  a  hero  seen  in  the 
morning  mist. 

I  put  him  to  the  solemn  oath,  and  then  and 
there  he  declared  before  them  his  innocence  of 
the  greater  evil,  purging  himself,  as  the  manner 
was,  by  solemn  and  binding  oath,  which  purga- 
tion had  been  refused  him  by  the  Presbytery. 

"  By  the  grace  and  kindness  of  your  minis- 
ter, I,  Alexander  Gordon  of  Earlstoun,  being 
known  to  you  all,  declare  myself  wholly  inno- 
cent of  the  crime  laid  to  my  charge  by  the 
Presbytery  of  Kirkcudbright.  May  the  Lord 
in  whom  I  believe  have  no  mercy  on  my  soul  if 
I  speak  not  the  truth. 

"  But  as  for  the  lesser  shame,"  so  he  con- 
tinued, "  that  I  brought  on  myself  and  on  the 
cause  for  which  I  have  been  in  time  past  privi- 
leged to  suffer,  in  that  I  was  overcome  with 
wine  in  the  change-house  of  St.  John's,  Clachan 
— that  much  is  true.  With  contrition  do  I  con- 
fess it.  And  I  confess  also  to  the  unholy  and 
hellish  anger  that  descended  on  my  spirit,  from 


336  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

which  blackness  of  darkness  I  was  brought  by 
your  minister.  For  which  I,  unworthy,  shall 
ever  continue  to  praise  the  Lord  of  mercies, 
who  did  not  cut  me  off  with  my  sin  unconfessed 
or  my  innocence  unproclaimed." 

Alexander  Gordon  sat  down,  and  there  went 
a  sigh  and  a  murmur  over  all  the  folk  like  the 
wind  over  ripe  wheat  in  a  large  field. 

Then  I  told  them  how  that  my  resolve  was 
taken,  and  that  it  was  necessary  that  I  should 
depart  from  the  midst  of  them  in  order  that 
there  might  be  peace. 

But  one  and  another  throughout  the  kirk 
cried,  "  Nay,  we  will  not  let  you  go!  We  have 
fought  for  you;  desert  us  not  now.  The  bit- 
terness of  the  blast  is  surely  over;  now  they 
will  let  us  alone!  " 

Thus  one  and  another  cried  out  there  in  the 
kirk,  but  the  most  part  only  groaned  in  spirit 
and  were  troubled. 

"  Ye  shall  not  be  less  my  people  that  an- 
other is  set  in  my  place.  I  go  indeed  to  seek 
a  wider  ministry.  I  have  been  called  by  the 
remnant  of  the  Hill-folk  that  have  so  long  been 
without  a  pastor.  Whether  I  am  fitted  to  be 
their  minister  I  do  not  know,  but  in  weakness 
and  the  acknowledgment  of  it  there  is  ever  the 


FARE   YOU   WELL! 


337 


beginning  of  strength.  I  have  loved  your  par- 
ish and  you.  Dear  dust  lies  in  that  kirkyard 
out  there,  and  when  for  me  the  Angel  of  the 
Presence  comes  who  calls  not  twice,  that  is 
where  I  should  like  to  lie,  under  the  blossom- 
ing hawthorn  trees  near  by  where  the  waters 
of  Dee  flow  largely  and  quietly  about  the  bonny 
kirk-knowe  of  Balmaghie." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

"i    LOVE    YOU,    QUINTIn!" 

There  was  little  more  to  do.  The  scanty 
stock  of  the  glebe  was,  by  Hob's  intervention, 
sold  in  part  to  Nathan  Gemmell,  of  Drumglass, 
and  the  remainder  driven  along  the  Kenside 
by  the  fords  of  the  Black  Water  to  Ardarroch, 
where  my  mother  received  it  with  uplifted, 
querulous  hands,  and  my  father  calmly  as  if  he 
had  never  expected  anything  else. 

"  To  think,"  cried  my  mother,  "  that  the 
laddie  we  sent  so  proudly  to  the  college  should 
shut  himself  out  of  manse  and  kirk,  and  tak' 
to  the  moors  and  mosses  as  if  the  auld  perse- 
cuting days  were  back  again." 

"  It  is  in  a  guid  cause,"  said  my  father, 
quieting  her  as  best  he  could. 

'  I  daresay,"  said  my  mother,  "  but  the  lad 
will  get  mony  a  wet  fit  and  weary  mile  if  he 
ministers  to  the  Hill-folk.     Aye,  and  mony  a 

sair  heart  to  please  them." 

338 


"I    LOVE   YOU,   QUINTIN!"  339 

"  Fear  ye  not  for  Quintin,"  said  my  father, 
to  soothe  her,  "  for  if  it  comes  to  dourness  the 
Lord  pity  them  that  try  to  overcrow  our  Quin- 
tin." 

I  made  no  farewell  round  of  the  kindly, 
faithful  folk  of  Balmaghie.  My  heart  would 
have  had  too  many  breakings.  Besides,  I 
promised  myself  that,  when  I  took  up  the  pil- 
grim's staff  and  ministered  to  the  remnant  scat- 
tered abroad,  seeking  no  reward,  I  should  often 
be  glad  of  a  night's  shelter  at  Drumglass  or 
Cullenoch. 

Nevertheless,  for  all  my  brave  resolves,  it 
was  with  an  overweighted  heart  that  I  passed 
the  Black  Water  at  the  Tornorrach  fords  with 
my  staff  in  my  hand.  I  had  as  it  were  come 
over  in  two  bands,  with  Hob  driving  the  beasts 
for  the  glebe,  and  I  the  house  furniture  upon 
a  car  or  trail  cart. 

Now  I  left  the  parish  poorer  than  I  entered 
it.  I  knew  not  so  much  as  where  I  would  sleep 
that  night.  I  had  ten  pounds  in  my  pocket, 
and  when  that  was  done — well,  I  would  surely 
not  be  worse  off  than  the  King's  Blue  Gown. 
I  was  to  minister  to  a  scattered  people,  mostly 
of  the  poorest.  But  at  the  worst  I  was  sure  of 
an  inglenook,  a  bed  in   the  stable-loft,  and  a 


34©  THE    STANDARD   BEARER. 

porringer  of  brose  at  morn  and  e'en  anywhere 
in  Scotland.  And  I  am  sure  that  ofttimes 
the  Galilean  fishermen  had  not  so  much. 

My  mother  threw  her  arms  about  my  neck. 
"  O  laddie,  laddie,  ye  are  ganging  far  awa 
on  a  rough  road  and  a  lonely.  Guid  kens  if 
your  auld  mither  will  ever  look  on  your  face 
again.  Quintin,  this  is  a  sair  heartbreak.  But 
I  ken  I  hae  mysel'  to  thank  for  it.  I  bred  ye  to 
the  Hill-folks'  ways  mysel'.  It  was  your  ain 
mither  that  took  ye  in  her  arms  to  the  sweet 
conventicles  on  the  green  bosom  of  Cairnsmuir, 
that  delectable  mountain.  I,  even  I,  had  ye  bap- 
tized at  the  Holy  Linn  by  guid  Maister  Semple, 
and  never  a  whinge  or  a  greet  did  ye  gae  when 
he  stappit  ye  into  the  thickest  o'  the  jaw." 

And  the  remembrance  seemed  in  part  to 
reconcile  my  mother  to  the  stern  Cameronian 
ministry  I  was  about  to  take  up. 

"  And  what  stipend  are  they  promising  ye?  " 
she  said,  presently,  after  she  had  thought  the 
matter  over. 

'  Nothing!  "  I  answered,  calmly. 

'  Nocht  ava' — no  a  bawbee — and  a'  that 
siller  spent  on  your  colleging." 

Then  my  mother's  mind  took  a  new  tack. 

"  And  what  will  puir  Hob  be  gaun  to  do, 


"I   LOVE   YOU,   QUINTINr*  341 

puir  fellow?  He  has  had  nae  ither  thocht  than 
you  since  ever  he  was  a  laddie." 

"  Faith,"  said  I,  smiling  back  at  her,  "  I  am 
thinking  that  now  at  last  he  has  some  other 
thought  in  his  mind." 

My  mother  fell  back  a  step. 

"No  a  lassie! ':  she  cried,  'a  laddie  like 
him." 

"  Hob  is  no  week-old  bairn  chicken,  moth- 
er," said  I;  "he  will  be  five-and-thirty  if  he  is 
a  day." 

"  But  our  Hob — to  be  thinking  o'  a  lassie!  " 

"  At  what  age  might  ye  have  been  married, 
mother?  "  I  asked,  knowing  that  I  could  turn 
her  from  thinking  of  Hob's  presumption  and 
my  own  waygoing. 

"  Me?  I  was  married  at  seventeen,  and 
your  father  scant  a  score.  Faith,  there  was 
spunk  in  the  countryside  then.  Noo  a  lass  will 
be  four-and-twenty  before  she  gets  an  offer; 
aye,  and  not  think  hersel'  ayont  the  mark  for 
the  wedding-ring,  when  I  had  sons  and  dochters 
man  and  woman-muckle!  " 

"  Then,"  said  I,  "  that  being  so,  ye  will  not 
be  hard  on  Hob  if  he  marries  and  settles  him- 
self down  at  Drumglass." 


342 


THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 


My  father  clapped  me  on  the  shoulder. 
'  God  speed  ye,"  he  said;  "  I  need  not  tell 
ye  to  be  noways  feared.  And  if  ye  come  to 
the  bottom  of  your  purse — well,  your  faither 
is  no  rich  man.  But  there  will  be  aye  a  bit 
of  yellow  siller  for  ye  in  the  cupboard  of  Ar- 
darroch." 

I  had  meant  to  take  my  way  past  Earlstoun 
without  calling.  And  with  that  intent  it  was 
in  my  mind  to  hold  directly  over  the  moor  past 
Lochinvar.  But  when  it  came  to  the  pinch  I 
simply  could  not  do  it. 

So  to  the  dear  grey  tower  chin-deep  among 
the  woodlands  I  betook  me  once  more.  My 
eyes  had  been  looking  for  the  first  glint  of  it 
over  the  tree  tops  for  miles  ere  I  came  within 
sight  of  it.  "  There,"  and  "  there,"  so  I  said 
to  myself,  "  under  that  white  cloud,  by  the  nick 
of  that  hill,  where  the  woodland  curls  down, 
that  is  the  place." 

At  last  I  arrived. 

"  Quintin  MacClellan,  come  your  ways  in. 
Welcome  are  ye  as  the  smell  o'  the  supper 
brose,"  cried  Alexander  Gordon,  coming  heart- 
ily across  from  the  far  angle  of  the  courtyard 
at  sight  of  me.  "  Whither  away  so  travel-har- 
nessed? " 


"I   LOVE   YOU,   QUINTIN!"  343 

"  To  the  Upper  Ward,"  said  I,  "  to  make  a 
beginning  on  the  widest  minister's  charge  in 
Scotland." 

"  You  are,  then,  truly  bent  on  leaving  all 
and  taking  upon  you  the  blue  bonnet  and  the 
plaid  of  the  minister  of  the  Remnant?  ,: 

"I  have  already  done  it,"  said  I,  "burned 

my  boats,  emptied  my  house,  sold  my  plenishing 

and  bestial.     And  now  with  my  scrip  and  staff 

I  go  forth,  whither  I  know  not — perchance  to  a 

hole  in  the  hedge-root  and  the  death  of  a  dog." 

'  Tut,  man,"  cried  Alexander  Gordon,  '  'tis 

not  thus  that  the  apostle  of  the  Hill-folk,  the 

bearer  of  their  banner,  should  go  forth.     Bide 

at  least  this  night  with  me,  and  I  will  set  you 

up  the  waterside,  aye,  and  fit  you  with  a  beast 

to  ride  on  forbye." 

'  I   thank   you   from   my   heart,    Earlstoun. 

This  is  spoken  like  a  true  man  and  from  the 

full  heart.     Only  Alexander  Gordon  would  offer 

as  much.     But  I  would  begin  as  I  must  end  if 

I  am  to  be  the  poor  man's  minister.     I  must 

not   set  out   on  my  pilgrimage  riding  on  the 

back  of  Earlstoun's  charger.     I  must  tramp  it 

— moss    and    mountain,    dub    and    mire.     Yet, 

friend  of  mine,  I  could  not  go  without  bidding 

you  a  kindly  adieu." 
23 


344 


THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 


"  At  least  bide  till  the  mistress  and  Mary 
can  shake  ye  by  the  hand,"  cried  Alexander 
Gordon. 

And  with  that  he  betook  him  to  the 
nearest  window,  and  without  ceremony  pushed 
it  open,  for  the  readiest  way  was  ever  Sandy 
Gordon's  way.  Then  he  roared  for  his  wife  and 
daughter  till  the  noise  shook  the  tower  like  an 
earthquake. 

In  a  moment  Mary  Gordon  came  out  and 
stood  on  the  doorstep  with  her  fingers  in  her 
ears,  pretending  a  pretty  anger. 

"  What  an  unwholesome  uproar,  father! 
Well  do  they  call  you  the  Bull  of  Earlstoun, 
and  say  that  they  hear  you  over  the  hill  at 
Ardoch  bidding  the  herd  lads  to  be  quiet!" 

Then  seeing  me  (as  it  appeared)  for  the  first 
time,  she  came  forward  and  took  my  hand  sim- 
ply, and  with  a  pleasant  open  frankness. 

"  You  will  come  in  and  rest,  will  you  not?  ': 
she  said.  "  Are  you  here  on  business  with  my 
father?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  I,  smiling  at  her;  "  I  have  no 
business  save  that  of  bidding  you  farewell." 

"  Farewell! ':  cried  she,  dropping  the  nee- 
dle-work she  held  in  her  hand,  '  why  fare- 
well?" 


"I    LOVE   YOU,   QUINTIN!"  345 

'  I  go  far  away  to  a  new  and  untried 
work.  I  know  not  when  nor  how  I  shall  re- 
turn." 

She  gave  a  little  quick  shivering  gasp,  as 
if  she  had  been  about  to  speak. 

"  At  the  least,  come  in  and  see  my  mother," 
she  said,  and  led  the  way  within. 

But  when  we  had  gone  into  the  long  oaken 
chamber  naught  of  the  Lady  of  Earlstoun  was 
to  be  seen.  And  the  laird  himself  cried  up  to 
Mary  to  entertain  me  till  he  should  speak  to 
his  grieve  over  at  the  cottage. 

In  the  living  room  of  Earlstoun  was  peace 
and  the  abiding  pleasant  sense  of  on  ordered 
home.  As  soon  as  she  had  shut  the  door  the 
lass  turned  upon  me. 

1  You  have  truly  given  up  your  parish?  " 
she  said,  holding  her  hands  before  her  with  the 
fingers  clasped  firmly  together. 

I  nodded. 

''  And  you  are  journeying  to  the  west  to 
join  the  Hill-folk?  " 

I  smiled  as  I  looked  into  her  deep  and  anx- 
ious eyes. 

:i  Again  you  have  rightly  divined,"  I  said. 

"  And  what  stipend  are  ye  to  get  from 
them?  " 


346  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

'  I  am  to  have  no  stipend.  It  has  not  been 
mentioned  between  us." 

'  O  Quintin!  "  she  cried  suddenly,  her  eyes 
growing  ever  larger  and  darker,  till  the  pupil 
seemed  to  invade  the  iris  and  swallow  it  up. 

But  though  I  waited  for  her  to  speak  fur- 
ther she  said  nothing  more. 

So  I  went  on  to  tell  her  how  I  was  going 
to  the  west  to  spend  my  life  among  the  poor 
folk  there  who  had  been  so  long  without  a 
shepherd. 

"  And  would  you  " — she  paused — "  would 
you  leave  us  all?  " 

"  Nay,"  said  I,  "  for  this  Earlstoun  shall  ever 
be  a  kindly  and  a  beloved  spot  to  me.  Often 
when  the  ways  are  long  and  dreary,  the  folk 
unfriendly,  will  my  heart  turn  in  hither.  And, 
whenever  I  am  in  Galloway,  be  sure  that  I  will 
not  pass  you  by.  Your  father  hath  been  a  good 
and  loving  friend  to  me." 

"  My  father!  "  she  cried,  with  a  little  dis- 
dainful outward  pout  of  the  lip. 

"  Aye,  and  you  also,  Mistress  Mary.  You 
have  been  all  too  kind  to  a  broken  man — a 
man  who,  when  the  few  coins  he  carries  in  his 
purse  are  expended,  knows  not  whence  he  will 
get  his  next  golden  guinea." 


"I   LOVE   YOU,  QUINTIN!"  347 

I  was  silent  for  a  while  and  only  looked 
steadily  at  her.  She  moved  her  feet  this  way 
and  that  on  the  floor  uncertainly.  Her  grace 
and  favour  cried  out  to  me  anew. 

"  As  for  me,  Mary,"  I  said,  "  I  need  not  tell 
you  that  I  love  you.  I  have  loved  you  ever 
since  I  met  you  on  the  Bennan  brae-face.  But 
now  more  greatly — more  terribly  that  I  love  al- 
together without  hope.  I  had  not  meant  to 
speak  again,  but  only  to  take  your  hand  once 
thus — and  get  me  gone! ': 

Impulsively  she  held  her  fingers  out  to  me 
and  I  clasped  them  in  mine. 

I  thought  she  was  ready  to  bid  me  farewell, 
and  that  she  desired  not  to  prolong  the  pain  of 
the  interview. 

"  Fare  thee  well  then,  Mary,"  said  I.  "  I 
have  loved  the  cause  because  it  is  the  Cause  of 
the  Weak.  I  have  striven  to  raise  again  the 
Banner  of  Blue.  I  have  loved  my  people.  But 
none  of  these  hath  this  aching,  weary  heart 
loved  as  it  has  loved  Mary  Gordon.  I  have 
neither  heart  nor  right  to  speak  of  my  love, 
nor  house  nor  home  to  offer.     I  can  but  go!  " 

"  Speak  on,"  she  said,  a  little  breathlessly, 
but  never  once  taking  her  eyes  from  my  face. 

"  There   is  no  other  word   to   tell,    Mary," 


348  THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 

said  I.  '  I  have  spoken  the  word,  and  now 
there  remains  but  to  turn  about  and  set  face 
forward  as  bravely  as  may  be,  to  shut  out  the 
pleasant  vision,  seen  for  a  moment,  to  leave  be- 
hind  for  ever  the  heart's  desire 

'  No!  No!  No!  ':  she  interrupted,  jerking 
her  clasped  hands  quickly  downward. 

"  To  lay  aside  the  deep,  unspoken  hopes 
of  a  man  who  has  never  loved  woman  be- 
fore  " 

She  came  a  little  nearer  to  me,  still  explor- 
ing my  face  with  her  eyes,  as  I  spoke  the  last 
words. 

"  Did  you  not,  Quintin?     Are  you  sure?  '; 

'  I  have  never  loved  before,"  said  I,  "  be- 
cause I  have  loved  Mary  Gordon  from  the  be- 
ginning, yea,  every  day  and  every  hour  since  I 
was  a  herd  boy  on  the  hills.  Once  I  was  filled 
with  pride  and  the  security  of  position.  But 
of  these  the  Lord  hath  stripped  me.  I  am 
well-nigh  as  poor  as  when  I  came  into  the 
world.  I  have  nothing  now  to  offer  you  or  any 
woman." 

'  Nay,"  she  cried,  speaking  very  quickly  and 
suddenly,  laying  her  clasped  hands  on  my  arm, 
"  you  are  rich — rich,  Quintin!  Listen,  lad! 
There  is  one  that  loves  you  now — who  has  loved 


"I    LOVE    YOU,   QUINTIN!"  349 

you  long.  Do  you  not  understand?  Must  I, 
that  am  a  maid,  speak  for  myself?  Must  I  say, 
/  love  you,  Quintin  f  " 

And  then  she  smiled  suddenly,  gloriously, 
like  the  sun  bursting  through  black  and  leaden 
clouds. 

Oh,  sweet  and  perilously  sweet  was  her 
smile ! 

"  Mary,"  I  cried,  suddenly,  :'  you  are  not 
playing  with  me?  Ah,  for  God's  dear  sake,  do 
not  that!  It  would  break  my  heart.  You 
cannot  love  a  man  broken,  penniless,  outcast, 
one  of  a  down-trodden  and  despised  folk.  You 
must  not  give  yourself  to  one  whose  future 
path  is  lone  and  desolate!  " 

"  /  love  you,  Quintin!  " 

"  One  who  has  nothing  to  offer,  nothing  to 
give,  not  even  the  shelter  of  a  roof-tree — a  wan- 
derer, a  beggar!  ''' 

"  I  love  you,  Quintin!  " 

And  the  hands  that  had  been  clasped  on 
my  arm  of  their  own  sweet  accord  stole  upward 
and  rested  lovingly  about  my  neck.  The  eyes 
that  had  looked  so  keenly  into  mine  were  sat- 
isfied at  last,  and  with  a  long  sobbing  sigh  of 
content  Mary  Gordon's  head  pillowed  itself  on 
my  breast. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE    LAST    ROARING    OF    THE    BULL. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  after  a  while,  "  let  us  go 
to  my  father!  " 

And  now,  the  rubicon  being  passed,  there 
shone  a  quick  and  alert  gladness  upon  her  face. 
Her  feet  scarcely  seemed  to  touch  the  ground. 
The  mood  of  sedateness  had  passed  away,  and 
she  hummed  a  gay  tune  as  we  went  down  the 
stairs. 

Alexander  Gordon  was  coming  across  the 
yard  to  speak  with  his  wife  as  Mary  and  I  ap- 
peared hand  in  hand  at  the  stair  foot. 

He  stopped  as  it  had  been  suddenly  aghast 
when  he  caught  sight  of  us. 

"Mary!"  he  cried. 

She  nodded  and  made  him  a  little  prim 
curtesy. 

"  What  means  this?  "  he  said,  sternly. 

"  Just  that  Quintin  and  I  love  one  an- 
other!" 

350 


THE    LAST    ROARING   OF   THE   BULL. 


351 


And  as  she  spoke  I  saw  the  frown  gather 
ominously  on  Alexander  Gordon's  face.  His 
wife  came  near  and  looked  at  him.  I  saw  him 
flash  a  glance  at  her  so  quick,  so  stern,  and 
full  of  meaning  that  the  ready  river  of  her 
speech  froze  on  her  lips. 

"  This  is  rank  foolishness,  Mary!  "  he  cried; 
"  go  indoors  this  instant  and  get  to  your  broi- 
dering.     Let  me  hear  no  more  of  this! ': 

But  the  spirit  of  the  Gordons  was  in  the 
daughter  as  well  as  in  the  sire. 

'  I  will  not,"  she  said;  "  I  am  of  age,  and 
though  in  all  else  I  have  obeyed  you,  in  this  I 
will  not." 

Glance  for  glance  their  eyes  encountered, 
nor  could  I  see  that  either  pair  quailed. 

The  Laird  of  Earlstoun  turned  to  me. 

'''  And  you,  sir,  whom  I  trusted  as  my  friend, 
how  came  you  here  under  pretext  of  amity, 
thus  to  lead  away  my  daughter?  " 

The  question  was  fiercely  spoken,  the  tone 
sullenly  angry.  Yet  somehow  both  rang  hol- 
low. 

I  was  about  to  answer  when  Mary  inter- 
rupted. 

'  Nay,  father,"  she  cried,  looking  him  fear- 
lessly in  the  face;  "it  was  I  that  proffered  my 


352  THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 

love.  He  would  not  ask  me,  though  I  tried  to 
make  him.  I  had  to  tell  him  that  I  loved  him, 
and  make  him  ask  me  to  marry  him! ': 

Was  it  fancy  that  the  flicker  of  a  smile 
passed  at  that  moment  over  the  grim  counte- 
nance of  the  Bull? 

His  wife  was  again  about  to  speak,  but 
he  turned  fiercely  on  her  and  bade  her  be  si- 
lent. 

"  And  now,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  daugh- 
ter, '  what  do  you  propose  to  do  with  your 
man  when  ye  have  '  speered  '  him?  " 

He  used  the  local  country  expression  for  a 
proposal  of  marriage.  "  I  will  marry  him  here 
and  now,"  she  said;  adding  hastily,  "  that  is,  if 
he  will  have  me." 

'Ye  had  better  speer  him  that  too!"  said 
her  father,  grimly. 

"  I  will  do  better,"  cried  Mary  Gordon.  "  I 
will  acknowledge  him!  " 

And  holding  up  my  hand  in  hers  she  cried 
aloud:  "  I  take  you  for  my  husband,  Quintin 
MacClellan! ':  She  looked  up  at  me  with  a 
challenge  in  her  eye. 

"  My  wife!  "  was  all  that  I  could  utter. 

"  Well,"  said  Sandy,  "  that  is  your  bed 
made,  my  lassie.     You  have  both  said  it  before 


THE   LAST   ROARING  OF   THE   BULL.        353 

witnesses.  You  must  take  him  now,  whether 
ye  will  or  not! 

"  Hugh,"  he  cried,  with  a  sudden  roar  to- 
wards the  servants'  quarters.  And  from  the 
haymow  in  the  barn  where  he  had  been  making 
a  pretence  of  work  a  retainer  appeared  with  a 
scared  expression  on  his  face. 

''  Run  over  to  the  cot-house  at  the  road- 
end  and  tell  the  minister  lad  that  the  Dum- 
fries Presbytery  deposed  to  come  to  the  Earls- 
toun  and  that  smartly,  else  I  will  come  down 
and  fetch  him  myself!  " 

The  man  was  already  on  his  way  ere  the 
sentence  was  ended,  and  when  the  Laird  roared 
the  last  words  after  him  he  fairly  seemed  to 
jump. 

He  was  out  of  sight  among  the  trees  a  mo- 
ment after. 

"  Now,"  said  Alexander  Gordon,  '  Mary 
and  you  have  proclaimed  yourselves  man  and 
wife.  Ye  shall  be  soundly  married  by  a  minis- 
ter, and  then  ye  shall  go  your  ways  forth. 
Think  not  that  I  will  give  you  the  worth  of  a 
boddle  either  in  gear  or  land.  Ye  have  asked 
me  no  permission.  Ye  have  defied  me.  I  say 
not  that  I  will  disown  ye.  But,  at  least,  I  owe 
you  nothing." 


354  THE    STANDARD    BEARER. 

"  Father,"  said  Mary,  "  did  I  ask  you  for 
aught,  or  did  Quintin?  " 

'  Nay,"  said  he,  grimly,  "  not  even  for  my 
daughter." 

"  Then,"  said  she,  "  do  not  refuse  that  for 
which  you  have  not  been  asked!  " 

"And  how  may  you  propose  to  live?"  her 
•  father  went  on  triumphantly.  '  Ye  would  not 
look  at  him  when  he  had  kirk  and  glebe,  manse 
and  stipend.  And  now  ye  take  him  by  force 
when  he  is  no  better  than  a  beggar  at  the  dyke- 
back.     That  it  is  to  be  a  woman!  " 

She  kindled  at  the  words. 

"  And  what  a  thing  to  be  a  man!  Ye  think 
that  a  woman's  love  consists  in  goods  and  gear, 
comfortable  beds  and  fine  apparelling! ': 

:'  Comfortable  beds  are  not  to  be  lightlied," 
said  her  father;  "  as  ye  will  find,  my  lass,  or  a' 
be  done." 

She  did  not  heed  him,  but  flashed  on  with 
her  defiance. 

'  You,  and  those  like  you,  think  that  the 
way  to  win  a  woman  is  to  bide  till  ye  have  made 
all  smooth,  so  that  there  be  not  a  curl  on  the 
rose-leaves,  nor  yet  a  bitter  drop  in  the  cup. 
Even  Quintin  there  thought  thus,  till  he  learned 
better." 


THE    LAST    ROARING   OF   THE   BULL. 


355 


She  did  not  so  much  as  pause  to  smile, 
though  I  think  her  father  did — but  covertly. 

"No!"  she  cried,  'I  love,  and  because  I 
love  I  will  (as  you  say  floutingly)  be  ready  to 
lie  at  a  dykeback  like  a  tinkler's  wench.  I  will 
follow  my  man  through  the  world  because  he  is 
my  man — yes,  all  the  more  because  he  is  in- 
jured, despised,  one  who  has  had  little  happi- 
ness and  no  satisfaction  in  life.  And  now  I 
will  give  him  these  things.  I — I  only  will  make 
it  all  up  to  him.  With  my  love  I  can  do  it,  and 
I  will!" 

Her  father  nodded  menacingly. 
'  Ye  shall  try  the  dykebacks  this  very  nicht, 
my  lass!     And  ye  shall  e'en  see  how  ye  like 
them,  after  the  fine  linen  sheets  and  panelled 
chambers  of  the  Earlstoun." 

But  her  mother  broke  out  at  last. 

'  No,  my  bairn!  "  she  cried.  '  Married  or 
single  ye  shall  not  go  forth  from  us  thus!  " 

"Hold  your  tongue,  woman!"  roared  the 
Bull,  shaking  the  very  firmament  with  his  voice. 

"  Be  not  feared,  my  lass;  ye  shall  have  your 
mother's  countenance,  though  your  father  cast 
you  off,"  said  Janet  Gordon,  nodding  at  us 
with  unexpected  graciousness. 

"  Hold  your  peace,  I  tell  you!  " 


356 


THE   STANDARD    BEARER. 


"  Aye,  Sandy,  when  I  have  done!  " 
"  Though  he  turn  you  to  the  doorstep   I 
will  pray  for  you,"  she  went  on;  "  and  for  com- 
pany on  the  way  I  will  give  you  a  copy  of  my 
meditations,    which    are    most    meet    and    pre- 


cious." 


Her  husband  laughed  a  quick,  mocking 
laugh. 

"  A  bundle  of  clean  sarks  wad  fit  them  bet- 
ter— but  here  comes  the  minister." 

I  turned  about  somewhat  shamefacedly,  and 
there,  bowing  to  the  Laird  of  Earlstoun,  was 
young  Gilchrist  of  Dunscore,  whom  the  Pres- 
bytery of  Dumfries  had  lately  deposed.  He 
was  about  to  begin  a  speech  of  congratulation, 
but  the  Bull  broke  through. 

"  Marry  these  two!  "  he  commanded. 

And  with  his  ringer  he  pointed  at  Mary 
and  myself,  as  if  he  had  been  ordering  us  for 
immediate  execution. 

"But "  began  the  minister. 

Instantly  an  astonishing  volume  of  sound 
filled  the  house. 

"  But  me  no  buts!  Tie  them  up  this  mo- 
ment! Or,  by  the  Lord,  I  will  eviscerate  you 
with  my  sword!  " 

And  with  that  he  snatched  his  great  basket- 


THE   LAST    ROARING   OF   THE   BULL. 


357 


hilted  blade  from  the  scabbard,  where  it  swung 
on  a  pin  by  the  side  of  the  door. 

So,  with  a  quaking  minister,  my  own  head 
dazed  and  uncertain  with  the  whirl  of  events, 
and  Mary  Gordon  giving  her  father  back  defiant 
glance  for  glance,  we  were  married  decently  and 
in  order. 

"  Now,"  said  Alexander  Gordon,  so  soon  as 
the  "  Amen  "  was  out,  "  go  to  your  chamber 
with  your  mother,  Mistress  Mary!  Take  what- 
ever ye  can  carry,  but  no  more,  and  get  you 
gone  out  of  this  house  with  the  man  you  have 
chosen.  I  will  teach  you  to  be  fond  of  dyke- 
backs  and  of  throwing  yourself  away  upon  beg- 
garly, broken  men!" 

And  he  frowned  down  upon  her,  as  with 
head  erect  and  scornful  carriage  she  swept  past 
him — her  mother  trotting  behind  like  a  fright- 
ened child. 

I  think  Alexander  Gordon  greatly  desired 
to  say  something  to  me  while  he  and  I  stood 
waiting  for  her  return.  For  he  kept  shifting 
his  weight  from  one  foot  to  the  other,  now 
turning  to  the  window,  anon  humming  half  a 
tune  and  breaking  off  short  in  the  midst.  But 
ever  as  he  came  towards  me  with  obvious  in- 
tent to  speak,  he  checked  himself,  shaking  his 


358  THE   STANDARD   BEARER. 

head  sagely,  and  so  resumed  again  his  restless 
marching  to  and  fro. 

Presently  my  lass  came  down  with  a  proud 
high  look  on  her  face,  her  mother  following 
after,  all  beblubbered  with  tears  and  wringing 
her  hands  silently. 

'I  bid  you  farewell,  father!'  Mary  said; 
"  till  now  you  have  ever  been  a  kind  father  to 
me.  And  some  day  you  will  forgive  this  seem- 
ing disobedience!  " 

Then  it  was  that  her  father  made  a  strange 
speech. 

;<  Quintin  MacClellan  has  muckle  to  thank 
me  for.  For  had  it  not  been  for  the  roaring 
of  the  Bull,  he  had  not  so  easily  gotten  away 
the  dainty  quey!  " 

So  side  by  side,  and  presently  when  we  got 
to  the  wood's  edge  hand  in  hand,  Mary  Gordon 
and  I  went  out  into  the  world  together. 


Final  Addition  and  Conclusion  by  Hob  MacClellan. 

Thus  my  brother  left  the  writing  which  has 
fallen  into  my  hand.  In  a  word  I  must  finish 
what  I  cannot  alter  or  amend. 

His  marriage  with  Mary  Gordon  was  most 
happy  and  gracious,  though  I  have  ever  heard 


THE   LAST   ROARING   OF   THE   BULL.       359 

that  she  retained  throughout  her  life  her  high 
proud  nature  and  hasty  speech. 

Her  father  relented  his  anger  after  the  great 
renovation  of  the  Covenants  at  Auchensaugh. 
Indeed,  I  question  whether  in  driving  them 
forth  from  Earlstoun,  as  hath  been  told,  Alex- 
ander Gordon  was  not  acting  a  part.  For  when 
he  came  to  see  my  wife,  Alexander-Jonita,  after 
our  little  Quintin  was  born,  he  said,  "  Heard 
ye  aught  of  your  brother  and  his  wife?  ': 

I  told  him  that  they  were  well  and  hearty, 
full  of  honour,  work,  and  the  happiness  of  chil- 
dren. 

"  Aye,"  said  he,  after  a  pause  of  reflection, 
"  Quintin  has  indeed  muckle  to  thank  me  for. 
I  took  the  only  way  with  our  Mary,  to  make 
her  ten  times  fonder  o'  him  than  she  was." 

And  he  chuckled  a  little  deep  laugh  in  his 
throat. 

"  But,"  he  said,  "  I  wad  gie  a  year's  rent  to 
ken  how  she  liked  the  dykeback  the  night  she 
left  the  Earlstoun." 


THE    END. 


24 


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By  S.   R.    CROCKETT. 

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^HE    STANDARD   BEARER.     An    Historical 

-*■        Romance. 

Mr.  Crockett  stands  on  ground  that  he  has  made  his  own  in  this  romance 
of  the  Scottish  Covenanters.  The  story  opens  in  1685,  "  the  Terrible  Year," 
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most  successful  work. 

J  ADS'   LOVE.     Illustrated. 

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sonal experience.  However  modified  and  disguised,  it  is  hardly  possible  to  think  that 
the  writer's  personality  does  not  present  itself  in  Saunders  McQuhirr.  .  .  .  Rarely  has 
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Chronicle. 

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books." — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

JDOG-MYRTLE  AND  PEAT.     Third  edition. 

—  "  Here  are  idyls,  epics,  dramas  of  human  life,  written  in  words  that  thrill  and 

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is  a  more  attractive  piece  of  literary  workmanship,  and  has  about  it  a  certain  human 
interest  that  the  other  book  lacked.  .  .  .  Madame  Grand's  wit  and  humor,  her 
mastery  of  a  direct  and  forceful  style,  her  quick  insight,  and  the  depth  of  her  penetra- 
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ten with  a  masterly  command  of  style,  and  is  so  utterly  absorbing  and  so  strongly 
and  connectedly  logical,  that  the  author's  thought  impresses  you  at  every  line.  You 
skip  nothing.  Even  a  reader  whom  the  deeper  qualities  of  the  book  failed  to  hold 
would  follow  every  incident  from  sheer  pleasure  in  its  vividness,  its  picturesqueness, 
and  its  entertainment." — Boston  Herald. 

"'The  Beth  Book '  is  distinctly  a  notable  achievement  in  fiction.  .  .  .  Written 
in  a  style  that  is  picturesque,  vigorous,  and  varied,  with  abundance  of  humor,  ex- 
cellence of  graphic  description,  and  the  ability  to  project  her  chief  characters  with  a 
boldness  of  relief  that  is  rare." — Philadelphia  Press. 

"  One  of  the  strongest  and  most  remarkable  books  of  the  year.  ...  '  The  Beth 
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Express. 

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equally  wonderful  vividness  of  portrayal.  It  is  absorbingly  interesting.  .  .  .  The 
heroine  awakens  our  wonder,  pity,  and  admiration.  We  soon  become  enthralled  by 
the  fascinating  study,  and  follow  her  physical  and  spiritual  footsteps  with  breathless 
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ligent and  faithful  study  of  human  life  and  character;  second,  because  it  has  a  depth 
of  purpose  rare  indeed  in  ordinary  fiction ;  and  last,  because  from  start  to  finish  there 
is  a  charm  which  never  ceases  to  hold  the  reader's  interest.  Decidedly,  '  The  Beth 
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"A  remarkable  work." — New  York  Times. 

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.  .  .  Pathos  deepens  into  tragedy  in  the  thrilling  story  of '  God's  Foul.'" — Philadel- 
phia Ledger. 

"  Its  preface  alone  stamps  the  author  as  one  of  the  leading  English  novelists  of 
to-day  " — Boston  Daily  Advertiser. 

"The  story  is  wonderfully  brilliant.  .  .  .  The  interest  never  lags;  the  style  is 
realistic  and  intense;  and  there  is  a  constantly  underlying  current  of  subtle  humor. 
...  It  is,  in  short,  a  book  which  no  student  of  modern  literature  should  fail  to  read." 
— Boston  Times. 

"  A  story  of  remarkable  interest  and  point." — New  York  Observer. 


7 


'OOST  AVELINGH.      By  Maarten    Maartens. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

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JTEIE  SENTIMENTAL  SEX.    By  Gertrude  War- 

•*■  DEN. 

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J\/fAJESTY.     By  Louis  Couperus.      Translated  by 

■*■  *■*■   A.  Teixeira  and  Ernest  Dowson. 

"  No  novelist  whom  we  can  call  to  mind  has  ever  given  the  world  such  a  master- 
piece of  royal  portraiture  as  Louis  Couperus's  striking  romance  entitled  '  Majesty.'  "  — 
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STREET  IN  SUBURBIA.     Bv  Edwin  Pugh. 


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as  one  of  the  most  significant  of  the  year." — New  York  Press. 

y^HE  WISH.     By  Hermann  Sudermann.     With  a 

•"•         Biographical  Introduction  by  Elizabeth  Lee. 

"  A  powerful  story,  very  simple,  very  direct." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

"  Contains  some  superb  specimens  of  original  thought." — New  York  World. 

HE  NEW  MOON.     By  C.  E.  Raimond,  author 

of  "  George  Mandeville's  Husband,"  etc. 

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ARCH  HARES.     By  Harold  Frederic,  author 

of  "The  Damnation  of  Theron  Ware,"  "  In  the  Valley,"  etc. 

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don Saturday  Review. 

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don Literary  World. 

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sticks," etc. 

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Times-Herald. 

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Y^HE  STATEMENT  OF  STELLA  MABERLY. 

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once." — London  Daily  Chronicle. 

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and   that  he  possesses  a  certain  separate  quality  which  places  him  apart." — London 

A  cadetny. 

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"J^HE  LITTLE  REGIMENT,   and  Other  Episodes 

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sees,  and  feels  it,  is  really  wonderful.  The  reader  has  no  privileges.  He  must,  it  seems, 
take  his  place  in  the  ranks,  and  stand  in  the  mud,  wade  in  the  river,  fight,  yell,  swear, 
and  sweat  with  the  men.  He  has  some  sort  of  feeling,  when  it  is  all  over,  that  he  has 
been  doing  just  these  things.  This  sort  of  writing  needs  no  praise.  It  will  make  its 
way  to  the  hearts  of  men  without  praise." — New  York  Times. 

"  Told  with  a  verve  that  brings  a  whiff  of  burning  powder  to  one's  nostrils.  .  .  . 
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ft /T AGGIE:    A     GIRL     OF     THE     STREETS. 

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bing, breathing,  moving  life." — New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"Mr.  Crane's  story  should  be  read  for  the  fidelity  with  which  it  portrays  a  life 
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if  somber  and  repellent,  none  the  less  true,  none  the  less  freighted  with  appeal  to  those 
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T 


HE  RED  BADGE  OF  COURAGE.     An  Episode 

ej  the  American  Civil  War.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.00. 

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and  vim.  The  style  is  as  keen  and  bright  as  a  sword-blade,  and  a  Kipling  has  done 
nothing  better  in  this  line." — Chicago  Evening  Post. 

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added  to  American  literature  something  that  has  never  been  done  before,  and  that  is, 
in  its  own  peculiar  way,  inimitable." — Boston  Beacon. 

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"  From  the  opening  pages  the  clear  and  energetic  telling  of  the  story  never  falters 
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T^ODNEY  STONE.     Illustrated. 

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T 


HE  EXPLOfTS  OF  BRfGADfER   GERARD- 

A  Romance  of  the\Life  of  a   Typical  Napoleonic  Soldier.     Illus- 
trated. 

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nrutial  gayety,  moving  incident,  make  up  a  really  delightful  book." — London  Times. 

"  May  be  set  down  without  reservation  as  the  most  thoroughly  enjoyable  book  that 
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T 


HE  STARK  MUNRO  LETTERS.  Being  a 
Series  of  Twelve  Letters  written  by  Stark  Munro,  M.  B., 
to  his  friend  and  former  fellow-student,  Herbert  Swanborough, 
of  Lowell,  Massachusetts,  during  the  years  1 881-1884.  Illus- 
trated. 

"  Cullingworth,  ...  a  much  more  interesting  creation  than  Sherlock  Holmes,  and 
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7DOUND     THE    RED    LAMP.      Being  Facts  and 

■*■   *-     Fancies  of  Medical  Life. 

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keep  one's  heart  Isapmg  to  the  throat,  and  the  mind  in  a  tumult  of  anticipation  to  the 
end.  .  .  .  No  series  of  short  stories  in  modern  literature  can  approach  them." — Hart, 
ford  Times, 

"  If  Dr.  A.  'Conan  Doyle  had  not  already  placed  himself  in  tie  front  rank  of  living 
Fnglish  writers  by  '  The  Refugees,'  and  other  of  his  larger  stories,  he  would  surely  dy 
«o  by  these  fifteen  short  tales." — New  1  ork  Mail  and  Express. 

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BY   ANTHONY   HOPE. 

H^HE   CHRONICLES   OE  COUNT  ANTONIO. 

•^       With  Photogravure  Frontispiece  by  S.  W.  Van  Schaick.     i2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  recounting  than  are  those  of  Antonio  of 
Monte  Velluto,  a  very  Bayard  among  outlaws.  .  .  .  To  all  those  whose  pulses  still  stir 
at  the  recital  of  deeds  of  high  courage,  we  may  recommend  this  book.  .  .  .  The  chron- 
icle conveys  the  emotion  of  heroic  adventure,  and  is  picturesquely  written." — Lon- 
don Daily  News. 

"  It  has  literary  merits  all  its  own,  of  a  deliberate  and  rather  deep  order.  .  .  . 
In  point  of  execution  'The  Chronicles  of  Count  Antonio'  is  the  best  work  that  Mr. 
Hope  has  yet  done.  The  design  is  clearer,  the  workmanship  more  elaborate,  the  style 
more  colored." — Westminster  Gazette. 

"A  romance  worthy  of  all  the  expectations  raised  by  the  brilliancy  of  his  former 
books,  and  likely  to  be  read  with  a  keen  enjoyment  and  a  healthy  exaltation  of  the 
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"  A  gallant  tale,  written  with  unfailing  freshness  and  spirit." — London  Daily 
Telegraph. 

"  One  of  the  most  fascinating  romances  written  in  English  within  many  days.  The 
quaint  simplicity  of  its  style  is  delightful,  and  the  adventures  recorded  in  these  '  Chron- 
icles of  Count  Antonio'  are  as  stirring  and  ingenious  as  any  conceived  even  by  Wey- 
inan  at  his  best."— New  York  World. 

"No  adventures  were  ever  better  worth  telling  than  those  of  Count  Antonio. 
.  .  .  The  author  knows  full  well  how  to  make  every  pulse  thrill,  and  how  to  hold  his 
readers  under  the  spell  of  his  magic." — Boston  Herald. 

Y^EIE  GOD  IN  THE  CAR.     New  edition.    Uniform 
•*■        with   "The   Chronicles    of   Count    Antonio."      i2mo.      Cloth, 

$1.25. 

"  'The  God  in  the  Car'  is  just  as  clever,  just  as  distinguished  in  style,  just  as  full 
of  wit,  and  of  what  nowadays  some  persons  like  better  than  wit— allusiveness— as 
any  of  his  stories.  It  is  saturated  with  the  modern  atmosphere ;  is  not  only  a  very 
clever  but  a  very  strong  story ;  in  some  respects,  we  think,  the  strongest  Mr.  Hope 
has  yet  written." — London  Speaker. 

"A  very  remarkable  book,  deserving  of  critical  analysis  impossible  within  our 
limit;  brilliant,  but  not  superficial;  well  considered,  but  not  elaborated ;  constructed 
with  the  proverbial  art  that  conceals,  but  yet  allows  itself  to  be  enjoyed  by  readers  to 
whom  fine  literary  method  is  a  keen  pleasure." — London  World. 

"The  book  is  a  brilliant  one.  .  .  .  'The  God  in  the  Car'  is  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable works  in  a  year  that  has  given  us  the  handiwork  of  nearly  all  our  best  living 
novelists." — London  Standard. 


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"One  of  the  most  refreshing  novels  of  the  period,  full  of  grace,  spirit,  force,  feeling, 
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"  Here  is  the  sweetness  of  a  live  love  story.  ...  It  is  to  be  reckoned  among  the 
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place  and  a  place  apart.  Her  method  is  her  own,  and  she  stands  not  exactly  on  the 
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!■*■*■   of  "  Grania,"  "  Hurrish,"  etc.     121110.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

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— London  Spectator. 

"Abounds  in  thrilling  incidents.  .  .  .  Above  and  beyond  all,  the  book  charms  by 
reason  of  the  breadth  of  view,  the  magnanimity,  and  the  tenderness  which  animate  the 
author." — London  A  theticeum. 


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ENS,  author  of  "  The  Folly  of  Eustace,"  "  The  Green  Carna- 
tion," etc.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"A  study  in  character.  .  .  .  Just  as  entertaining  as  though  it  were  the  conven- 
tional story  of  love  and  marriage.  The  clever  hand  of  the  author  of  '  The  Green  Car- 
nation '  is  easily  detected  in  ihe  caustic  wit  and  pointed  epigram." — Jeannette  L. 
Gilder,  in  the  New  York  World. 

CORRUPTION.     By  Percy  White,  author  of  "Mr. 
Bailey-Martin,"  etc.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"A  drama  of  biting  intensity.  A  tragedy  of  inflexible  purpose  and  relentless  re- 
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the  political  part  is  perhaps  more  attractive  in  its  sparkle  and  variety  of  incident  than 
the  real  thing  itself." — London  Daily  News. 

HARD  WOMAN.     A  Story  in  Scenes.    By  Violet 
Hunt.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.25. 

"  A  good  story,  bright,  keen,  and  dramatic.  ...  It  is  out  of  the  ordinary,  and  will 
give  you  a  new  sensation." — New  York  Herald. 

"  A  creation  that  does  Mrs.  Hunt  infinite  credit,  and  places  her  in  the  front  rank  of 
the  younger  novelists.  .  .  .  Brilliantly  drawn,  quivering  with  life,  adroit,  quiet-witted, 
unfalteringly  insolent,  and  withal  strangely  magnetic."— London  Standard. 

D.   APPLETON   AND   COMPANY.   NEW   YORK. 


A 


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GILBERT   PARKER'S    BEST   BOOKS. 
Uniform  Edition. 

'J^HE  SEATS  OF  THE  MIGHTY.  Being  the 
Memoirs  of  Captain  Robert  Moray,  sometime  an  Officer  in 
the  Virginia  Regiment,  and  afterwards  of  Amherst's  Regiment. 
Illustrated,  $1.50. 

"Another  historical  romance  of  the  vividness  and  intensity  of 'The  Seats  of  the 
Mighty  '  has  never  come  from  the  pen  of  an  American.  Mr.  Parker's  latest  work  may 
without  hesitation  be  set  down  as  the  best  he  has  done.  From  the  first  chapter  to  the 
last  word  interest  in  the  book  never  wanes;  one  finds  it  difficult  to  interrupt  the  narra- 
tive with  breathing  space.  It  whirls  with  excitement  and  strange  adventure.  All 
of  the  scenes  do  homage  to  the  genius  of  Mr.  Parker,  and  make  'The  Seats  of  the 
Mighty'  one  of  the  books  of  the  year."— Chicago  Record. 

tu'  Hr'  (3ilbert   Parker  >s  to  be  congratulated  on  the  excellence  of  his  latest  story, 

The  Seats  of  the  Mighty,' and  his  readers  are  to  be  congratulated  on  the  direction 

which  his  talents  have  taken  therein.  ...   It  is  so  good  that  we  do  not  stop  to  think  of 

its  literature,  and  the  personality  of  Doltaire  is  a  masterpiece  of  creative  art. "— New 

1  'ork  Mail  and  Express. 


'/"HE    TRAIL    OF    THE    SWORD.      A    Novel. 

-*      $1.25. 

"  Mr.  Parker  here  adds  to  a  reputation  already  wide,  and  anew  demonstrates  his 
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Y"HE  TRESPASSER.     $1.25. 

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— breathlessly." — The  Critic. 

"Gilbert  Parker  writes  a  strong  novel,  but  thus  far  this  is  his  masterpiece.  ...  It 
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"A  story  of  remarkable  interest,  originality,  and  ingenuity  of  construction." — 
Boston  Home  journal. 


M- 


RS.  FALCHION.     $1.25. 


'A  well-knit  story,  told  in   an  exceedingly  interesting  way, and  holding  the 
reader's  attention  to  the  end." 


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